Desideratum
by Serria
Summary: L didn't have a real name and he finds his immunity to the Death Note tragic. Light joins him on his journey of self discovery when Interpol joins the task force in finding Kira. The battle of the wits between detective and suspect isn't over. Yaoi
1. Bewildered Deity

**DESIDERATUM**

Summary: Light discovers that L has an immunity to the Death Note, and L is overcome with depression. On a journey of self-discovery as well as a never-ending battle to the death of wits, they both expect to die. Shounen-ai.

Rating: T, mainly for language but some mature content

Spoilers: Up to manga 7 / episode 25. Sort of.

Beginning Notes: Alternate events after episode 25

Disclaimer: Death Note is not mine. I wish I had a Death Note. I need to purge the world of sin and evil! Uh. hm. okay. I'm a pacifist. And I was kidding. god.

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When Rem realized with a fascinated horror what Light Yagami wanted her to do, she despised him viciously. Her hatred was even more bitter because she knew that more or less, she, _she_, a God of Death had become his pawn and would obey. It was the only way that she could protect something she had come to love, and Light - rightfully named Kira, for _killer_ - took that into his ingenious calculations when he plotted her own downfall.

Humans were cruel and manipulative. The more she had come to actually knowing them instead of killing them from afar, the more she realized this to be so. Even the human that she loved was cruel and manipulative. Light Yagami, the Killer, was not much more than a child by human standards and he had already set the bar to a new level. Then there was the one they called 'L', his opposition, who was just as brutal and cold-hearted. It was without exception.

Invidiously she clutched her thin, black Death Note, wishing that she could write _his_ name in the note. But no, that's not what would save the one she loved. She would follow his plan because it was the only plan that made sense at this point, as he knew that it would be. And she had precious seconds left before that old man who already had a low lifespan number left called the president of some human country, and the truth of Kira's false rules was revealed. If that happened... then the one she loved would inevitably receive the death penalty.

It was ironic, Rem thought savagely, that a God of Death would love more than these damned humans. She had always been indifferent to the species which she lived off of for sustenance. But now she wished that she had killed a million billion more. Damn you, damn you, damn you. You self-centered parasites, damn you.

_Quillsh Wammy_. Her spidery handwriting etched this name onto the pale parchment. This meant that, irreversibly, in forty seconds that old man would die of a heart attack and he was beyond saving. To her this was not heartbreaking. What was important and unfortunate was that in forty seconds she would disintegrate into a pile of dust. She would revert back into the ashes she was made out of. This was simply because for a Shinigami, loving on the job is forbidden. To kill out of passion, which is what without a doubt will happen when you love a worm, becomes a murder, and that is unseemly for a God. For Shinigami, loving the humans is a mortal sin.

Humans didn't know how damned easy they had it.

"Damn you, Light Yagami," she whispered to no one in particular. It was the last words that she would say, she wanted to say something that she would never regret. "I'm glad at least that I loved. You, despicable creature, will never... love..."

And then she remembered that the man called "Watari"'s death wasn't enough to achieve her goal. He was a pawn... that _other_ one's pawn, and he was essentially replaceable. That other one... that other one, who also only had a taste for victory...

What was his name?

Panicked, she ferociously scribbled into the Death Note. The name that will kill, the name that will kill!

The only reason that humans could die from their names was because they were needy creatures. The name _became_ the filthy creature as they embraced it like a mother's love. They needed it. Without it, they felt incomplete. Selfish, sick. Rem's name was just a word to her, she called herself whatever pleased her, like any Shinigami. That's why she would never die from a Death Note.

No, _this_ was her end. A wail escaped her throat as her left hand began to soften from hard flesh into a powdery substance. What she called her skin was peeling in fragments, and as it fell down to the floor it looked like ground cinders. She was crumbling like a piece of burnt wood. This body was moldering, it was decomposing. It was ending.

What name?!

Rem shrieked, and as the sound escaped her lips, her fear was gone, too. She remembered quite simply the reason why she was becoming soot, and this calmed her. There were no regrets. This was fine. It was okay.

It was okay to love. She had killed countless others just like Misa, without a second thought. They were _just humans_. She might have even killed Misa one day, had she not spent sweet moments with the girl to realize what a waste that would be. This was one she would spare. Not just spare - die for.

Rem's eyes clouded over, and they were the last things to be reduced to that finely ground substance. Her Death Note lay settled in a pile of dull gray dust. It was the most peculiar of all murder weapons that lay in rest in the ferocious human world, but in the end it was a final tribute to a being that had sacrificed her existence for something she loved.

* * *

_So it was beginning. It was ending, so it had to be beginning._

Light's heart thumped dramatically as he watched the man he knew as Ryuuzaki. L sat on his chair in front of a wall of computer monitors, his arms wrapped around his knees as he waited for Watari's response. Light had told himself repeatedly that he hated the damned detective, and when that didn't rid him from his nausea he reminded himself that L simply had to die. The raven-haired enigma was a closed gate on Kira's road to Paradise. This simply had to be.

It had to be. There couldn't be any second thoughts now. His opponent was in checkmate. The moment of truth was here. If Light couldn't kill L now, L would find the way to have Light arrested and the law would have no mercy. L would have _him_ killed.

So... it had to be. The eighteen-year-old couldn't deny that it was a sacrifice. L had, very truthfully, been the most fascinating person that he had ever known. He was lanky and thin, but on the utter contrary he was strong and muscled. He was polite and humble, yet he was cocky and arrogant. Detached and collected, but likewise rash and passionate. He wore a round face with wide-eyes like a child, but the gazes and calculations he offered were matured. And under Light's detestation of the man who thought _he_ was justice, there was a respect. Perhaps even a friendship, though one absolutely not founded on such pillars as trust or understanding. No, that was ridiculous. Never a friendship. These circumstances didn't allow such a thing. But maybe in other circumstances... but that was equally ridiculous. If Light had met L on the street he would have struck him as odd and moved on. Through this life-or-death investigation was the only way that he could feel what he did now... which was what exactly? Certainly it was hatred. It had to be hatred. He wouldn't let himself dare to think at this point that it wasn't that.

Of course, it's not like he knew anything about the lanky detective except a recognition of his spirit. L had suspected he was Kira from the start. He had _known_. And even now with no evidence he would not give up. Light wished that he had at least known the name of his dearest mortal enemy.

But that could be forgiven. When L was finished, Light would be free to create a beautiful world. No more innocent people would walk the streets in fear. Criminal activity would cease to exist. People would be able to cherish their lives and live in honesty. No more corruption, no more immorality, nothing. Humanity would be good again. And he would kill even Ryuuzaki for that. Without question, he would do it, and he was going to.

He knew that his plan was successful when the computer monitors that were linked to Watari's office suddenly went a dead shade of black. The words "ALL DATA DELETION" ran across all of the screens in bold, pixelated font. Rem, the pain in the ass but in the end ever so useful pawn, had gone even further than even Light had thought. Rem had just killed the old man.

"Watari!" L cried out in what was somewhere between a shout and a coarse whisper. The monitor screens flickered and died. The fear of a child drenched his pale face; it clenched his expressionless eyes. This very real horror suddenly transformed the whole situation from a surreal dream to a chilling reality.

Light Yagami held his breath. It was happening. This was the moment. In a few seconds, Kira's only real obstacle would be silenced. Ryuuzaki... would be silenced.

"I instructed him to delete the data if something were to happen to him..." L's voice was forced and unsteady. Light could feel his mind whirling with thoughts, equations, explanations and theories. On such an overload of data, trying so desperately to crack the code, Light half expected that Rem didn't need to write down L's real name in order for him to have a heart attack. Then as if on cue, L shouted, "The Shinigami! Everyone, the Shinigami just murdered Watari!"

Terror stricken, the police officers began to yell with faces as white as ghosts. "She'll kill us all!" Matsuda exclaimed.

Light was waiting for just that. His face was also covered in sweat, and he was holding his breath. _Die, Ryuuzaki, please just die!_ It was agonizing. The torture of the heart attack that L would soon feel was nothing compared to this feeling. The domino was twitching, it just needed to lean a little bit further until it finally fell. Once it did the whole array of pieces would come tumbling after.

"_No_, quiet everyone!" The police chief and Light's father, Soichiro Yagami, commanded. He seemed to be the only one able to think rationally at that point. "Mogi-san, go to Watari, confirm if he's dead. Aizawa-san, find the Shinigami!"

_These are the longest forty seconds of my life..._ Light clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. L was indeed not moving, except for quick little breaths that came in irregular intervals from his chest. The detective just stared in awe, frozen, at the monitors bearing blank screens. Still alive. Still alive. Still alive. The seconds were ticking. If only he had been brave enough to glance at his watch. Instead he couldn't rip his eyes away from _him_.

Finally, L turned his head slowly. His wide, ebony eyes locked with his would-be murderer. They were foggy, filled with disbelief. But there was nothing that masked the sad look that he gave the boy he had once claimed was his "first ever friend". Then his empty gaze was back at the monitors.

And then Light realized that the longest forty seconds of his life was not in fact forty seconds at all. L was not going to die. Light's face twitched, and he held back a gulp. Not going to die. _Not... going... to... die_... Oh, shit. _Shit. _Rem messed up. The only explanation was that Rem messed up. She must have written down Watari's name first, and before she could write L's, she had withered away.

That... fucking... god-damned... _fuck!_

"He's dead..." Mogi had re-entered the main room. Awkwardly he looked at the detective, who was hunched over and hugging his knees, facing the other way. "Ryuuzaki... I'm sorry. It looks like heart-attack..."

"So it's Kira's doing. Ryuuzaki..." It was Soichiro Yagami, his face still contorted in a look of determination underneath the anguish. He walked over to the huddled youth and gingerly put a strong hand on his shoulder. "It's awful. But at least it was a quick death."

"No it wasn't," L answered quietly, but the tone was as foggy as his eyes. He might not have even known that the words left his mouth. "Myocardial infarction isn't quick. The blood supply to the heart is interrupted... then there's oxygen shortage... It was slow enough for him to delete the data... heart attacks are longer than that... Watari didn't..." The words drifted off into a strangled mumble.

At that moment, Shuichi Aizawa was back, cautiously holding a black notebook in his hands. He held it in two fingers, gripping it as though it were toxic. "She's not anywhere. Unless she's a pile of dust now, right by the Death Note. That's all I saw anywhere."

"Then she's dead," Light said bitterly, not needing a reason to explain his foul tone. What was important was hiding the panic that he felt in his gut. L was capable of picking up on fear with a sixth sense. Though of course, perhaps showing some fear would be fine. A Shinigami had after all just killed a member of the team. "It was her Death Note after all. There's no other logical explanation. No one else is going to die if we haven't already."

Soichiro exhaled sharply, and the other police in the Kira Investigation team breathed sighs of relief. The chief gave them hard looks, and turned back to L. "Ryuuzaki, I'm so sorry."

"Hmm.." L blinked the fog out of his eyes, and pressed a key on his keyboard. Those long slender fingers pressed a few more keys, and in its own domino effect suddenly he was typing ferociously at the computer. His voice was still rather mumbled, but he spoke clearly. "So it was the Shinigami who killed Watari. I see, how interesting that Rem-sama died from that. Why is that, I wonder? Because she interfered with the doings of humans? But that doesn't make sense, anybody that she killed would be interfering with our lives. Though how can a God of Death make sense? They shouldn't exist in the first place."

"Ryuuzaki?" Matsuda slowly inquired. "Are you... all right?"

"I regret very much that I won't be able to find out how and why exactly she died. Obviously, she isn't here to tell us anymore. Not like she was very useful in answering my questions anyway. There is so much that I don't know, and I would like to. I wonder what her motivation could be? Perhaps she didn't like where our investigation was going. She doesn't want the existence of Shinigami to go public in the human world, maybe?" He kept talking in the same detached voice that he normally used. It became clear to the rest of the team then with the beeping of computers that he was trying to recover Watari's deleted data.

Light knew he was in denial.

"Aha! But if every Death Note is tied to a God of Death, then Kira, or the second Kira must also have a Death Note! Once we've captured Kira, we must be sure to find out more information on the subject. I wonder if the Shinigami does the actual killing? If by owning the notebook, you can control a Shinigami? Since you can't see the god unless you've touched the note, this would be logical, but I'm doubtful that-"

"_Ryuuzaki!_" Soichiro shouted. He grabbed the back of L's chair and spun it around, and the bewildered detective stared up at the man like a kid who wasn't quite sure what he was being accused of now. "Watari-san is _dead_! If we're all safe now, we are not continuing the case until he is buried!"

L's face altered into a very exaggerated but extremely genuine look of despair. "Dead..."

Light's fingernails had dug too deeply into his palms as he clenched his fists. He couldn't take this. He felt near having a heart attack himself. He walked to Aizawa and snatched the Death Note out of his hands. Angrily he opened it to the more recent pages. There was a whole list of new names, and he hazarded a guess. "Quillsh Wammy, huh, Ryuuzaki? Was that Watari's real name?"

The despair deepened. "Light-kun!" And then his face was contorted into sincere torment. It was in defensive terror that he exclaimed, "You can't know that name!" With that he very suddenly leaped out of his chair and right at Light.

Light wished he could strangle the bastard right then. He misjudged the force at which L was flying at him and the detective's thin but tall figure knocked him over. He was trying desperately to pull the note book out of his hands. It was illogical behaviour because of course not just Light but everyone in the room now knew Watari's true name. L didn't usually act illogically. Light curled his knuckles and punched him in the jaw.

"Stop it! Light-kun! Ryuuzaki!" Matsuda yelled.

Ryuuzaki recoiled back, but his face didn't distort in any kind of acknowledgement of the pain. Instead he jumped forward again at Light, raising a bare foot and swinging it into what became a kick. Light lowered his head to save himself from the blow. Without stopping to recover his stance, L raised his left foot and snapped it forward. Light reached and grabbed a thin ankle, and yanked it so it pulled his enemy off balance. Pushing forward he punched L in the stomach. L took the blow without reaction and raised his own fist to hit Light in the face with enough force so that the brunette had to release his foot.

"Ryuuzaki, calm down!" Soichiro recognized the detective's irrational mindset, and immediately he went forward and grabbed one of his pale, skeletal wrists. Aizawa joined him in grabbing L's other arm. The detective flailed his weight forward, but the policemen twisted his arms like they had been trained to do with criminals. Though it must have hurt, L continued to pull away and unsuccessfully so, like a spooked cat with his eyes still casting horror upon what the Death Note might reveal.

"Ryuuzaki, I'm sorry. It's horrible that this all had to happen," Light said sagely, pretending that he was calm. "But it's too late now. He died for our cause, we all deserve to know who he was."

"Just put it down!" L's voice was the closest thing Light or anyone else there had heard to a wail. Light was reminded vaguely of the time when L discovered the existence of Shinigami, and realized that it was reminiscent of that disbelief too.

"Light, now isn't the time," Soichiro said, still holding on to the struggling detective. "He doesn't need this right now. We'll talk about this after we ... take Watari-san's body to the police station."

"Don't touch Mr. Wammy!" The words came out of L's mouth wearing a heavy accent. The English use of "Mr" instead of the Japanese "-san" made Light narrow his eyes in thought.

His disregarded his father's order, and looked back down at the pages. Light was as drawn to the Death Note as he ever had been, and his eyes swept over the parchment. He realized that Rem had written a number of names after _Quillsh Wammy_. Some were in Japanese kanji characters, others used a Roman alphabet... and was that Arabic? He scanned them for meaning. Ryuuzaki. L. Ryuga Hideki. Erald Coil. Denuve. ...What was this? Rem, may she be forever damned, had written out a hundred of L's aliases. She had tried to kill him after all.

"So none of these names are real, huh, Ryuuzaki," Light said softly, but out loud.

Suddenly L was very still and he hung limp in Soichiro's and Aizawa's grasp. He seemed very docile, as if he had never been fighting tooth and nail for freedom in the first place. "What do you mean, Light-kun?"

"It looks to me as though Rem attempted to write your name into the Death Note, too," Light said very casually, but he studied his rival's reactions with fierce intensity. "Both 'Ryuuzaki' and 'L' are in there. Even 'Ryuga Hideki', even I deduced that that was fake when I met you the first time! There's so many. 'Lawliet'? Is that French?"

If it had been possible, it seemed that L had suddenly become even more pale. He stared at Light with eyes that lacked their usual calculating scrutiny. "Lawliet is in there?" His voice was forced and scratchy.

"Yeah." What the hell had gone wrong, anyway? Was Rem so blind in her fit that she forgot to look at whatever name was written above L's being? Light wished that she were alive and human so that he might write _her_ name, the proper way, and give her a death that would never let her forget. "Which identity was that?"

"One from a very long time ago, I suppose. A minor one." L took a deep breath, and gathered his weight properly on his legs. After a short moment of silence, he said, "Everybody. I'm sorry for acting so strangely. I apologize for attacking you, Light-kun. I'm not thinking straight."

"No one is expecting you to think rationally right now, Ryuuzaki," Soichiro said very gently as he released L from his hold. "We're all panicked right now, and we all... had a great respect for Watari-san."

"Yes," L answered blandly.

"Mogi-san! And Matsuda-san!" Soichiro commanded, sizing them up, likely taking L's surprising strength into consideration. "Both of you, please stay with Ryuuzaki. Aizawa-san, and Light, both of you will come with me. I'm going to contact the station and tell them of Watari's passing. We will arrange a funeral. If... this is alright with Ryuuzaki..."

"Yes." The tone was as bland as before.

A few minutes later, after a quick phone call (having a police car come directly to the building would be too compromising for L) it was determined that they would bring the body and information to a designated place where they would be picked up. Light's father had lifted Watari's body. The eighteen-year old felt a sudden, unexpected sickness as the sight of the doll-like mass of flesh that not long ago was the kindly gentleman. It was uneasiness, because generally he did not see dead bodies. He had put to death a thousand sinners but there was something uncomfortable about being directly near one. Not that Watari had been a sinner in any sense except that he followed L's lead of opposition. Light forced himself to trail directly behind Soichiro and Aizawa and not advert his gaze. They didn't let L look at all - Mogi and Matsuda had kept him in one of the bedrooms out of fear that he might lose his head again.

It was an ironic saying. 'Lose his head'. If only he had.

Outside it was raining, but no one said anything. Aizawa opened a black umbrella but because of the wind, it didn't shield them from a single rain drop. Light tried to take reign over the emotions that he felt right then as they walked. There was definitely panic. L would certainly recover over any emotional loss he had for his assistant. He must have developed some kind of attachment to the old man when he was the only true company he had. But now that L was in contact with others, that was a smaller loss. Once L had recovered, he would continue with the test. The detective would find exactly the results that he wanted, too.

And with those results... Light could be Kira. L would undoubtedly have Light locked up once again, and Misa too (which would be ironically appropriate, considering Rem's sacrifice and failure...), and then... Light's body would be the next lifeless doll. This world couldn't afford to lose him. This world needed him. L couldn't win. Light didn't want to die. There had to be some way to find L's real name.

Light bit his lip anxiously, and then he remembered Misa, his trump card. Misa had the Shinigami eyes again. If only she could see L. She could see his real name. How hard would it be to draw L out of the Kira Investigation Headquarters, anyway? L would have never come out if Light had asked _before_, because that would only be too obvious. But with Watari dead, would he be more defensive over his life, or less?

They arrived at the designated place where a police car had already arranged to pick them up. An ambulance sat parked on the street for Watari. Of course they would try to revive him, but Light knew better than anyone what a waste of efforts that would be.

They entered the police car, and Light sat by a window. Water dribbled down the glass, and even inside he could hear the wind howling. It was a terrible rainstorm. L had said that just a few hours ago. It felt longer than that.

_Light hadn't exactly cared, or at least that's what he told himself. But when Ryuuzaki was absent from the investigation room, he ever-so-casually questioned Matsuda about his whereabouts. For reasons of caution, of course. Ryuuzaki taught him better than anyone that it was dangerous to let one's enemy out of one's sight. Matsuda put on a concerned face. "He said something about bells, I think he went upstairs." _

_Light had sighed at that. Of course Ryuuzaki was going to get all depressed again. He had been depressed after Light's release from prison because he couldn't prove that he was Kira. The bastard was immature in that sense. He didn't take defeats easily. So now that Light had eliminated all evidence against his shakey hypothesis (even if it was correct), who knew what that guy would do? _

_When his soon-to-be-murderer found Ryuuzaki on the porch, outside, standing obliviously in the rain, looking up at the sky as if he were focusing on something besides heavy clouds... Light had been mildly irritated. The man who was supposed to be the world's greatest detective looked more like a young teenager who had just realized how baffling life was. He was soaked head to toe. That idiot could catch a cold, standing there. _

_Bastard. _

They pulled in at the police station, and Light wondered hesitantly why exactly his father had insisted that he be in this group. He wasn't part of the police force. Wasn't the only explanation for him being with L's personal assistant that L suspected the police chief's son? No, no, he had to remind himself. Soichiro simply didn't want to agitate L more by having Light stay there - and inevitably, it would have agitated L, no matter how kindly Light acted. And it would have been acting. Light didn't even know how to put how frustrated he felt into words, and gritting his teeth and biting his lip wouldn't have been enough right then to keep his hands away from his despised friend's neck.

"Light... are you doing okay?" Soichiro opened the door for him as they pulled into the station. His face was grim, and his lips were drawn into a tight line. He offered his son a gracious hand.

"I'm okay," Light said, playing his voice so it perfectly caught the tone of a youth trying his best to hide his hurt feelings. He clasped on to the offered strong hand of his father. "I feel terrible for Watari-san though. He was a wonderful man. I can't believe that the Shinigami would do that. I just don't understand why."

"We can't stop now. We have to keep going." Soichiro hesitated for a moment as they walked into the station. "I feel the need to apologize to you anyway, son. I feel as though I've somehow put your life into danger. If the Shinigami hadn't died after that murder... to think, what if she had... written more names down, too. I don't know if I could handle it if she had written your name..."

"It's okay, Dad." Light gave a reassuring smile. "You can't help those things. I got myself wound up in this case, but I have a genuine determination to capture Kira too. If I die in trying to reach my goals, then that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. It wouldn't be your fault at all."

"Don't talk like that, Light!" Soichiro said forcefully. Of course, he would still have to act like a father. Of course it was okay for him to say things, but hearing his son say the same things would be painful. "I don't want to hear you saying things like that. You shouldn't be throwing your life away for anything at this point. You're still just a child."

"Ah, you're right, Dad. I'm sorry." A lie, of course. Light was no child. Light was Kira, a god, a superior being who would bring this world to salvation. Though that could only happen if...

"I just pray that Ryuuzaki will be able to recover," his father commented quietly. "Living the life that he's been living, it must be hard to lose your only real support. You know, I've been hearing about the famous 'L' for years. I never imagined that he would be so young. He's not much more than a child himself."

This annoyed Light, and made him feel a pit in his stomach all over again. That _child_ wants me to sit in an electric chair. That _child_ had you pretend to kill me. That _child_ doesn't follow the laws of any country, yet claims that his side of government order is justice... "He's strong-willed. He'll be fine, too."

"I don't know if he is, without Watari. He's got no one left to trust that he's ever told us about. At least, that's what I've gathered." Soichiro's voice drifted as they reached the desk of the police headquarters. "Just wait here, Light. It'd be better if you... just stayed."

"Of course." Light smiled in farewell, watching his father enter the elevator across the lobby.

But instead of waiting in the lobby he went straight to the men's restroom. He glanced around for video cameras, but there were none. After concluding that the area was free from all forms of life, he sat down on the tile counter and took out his cell phone.

"Light! Light! Misa was worried that you wouldn't call her, being so busy killing Ryuuzaki!" The girl's voice was full of bubbles that made Light clench his fists to keep from snapping. "Can we meet?"

"He's not dead, Misa," Light said slowly and quietly. He would have to have a talk with that damned woman about what was acceptable to say over a phone line and what was not. Actually, since Rem was dead, killing her might not be such a bad option... "I need to know what his name is. You saw him that day, months ago. I need you to remember. If you can't, you're useless to me."

Misa let out a girlish yelp, and she hesitated. "I thought very hard about it for a long time, and something came into my head. But it's very stupid so I thought that surely it was wrong..."

"Misa, for God's sake, tell me you remember what L's name is!"

"I did remember," she peeped quietly. "I remember that I thought it was strange, and you told me later it was because he gave me a false name. But now that I've had time to think about it, I remember."

"I need to know _now_."

"He didn't have one."

Silence. Light found himself unable to choose the words that he wanted to say. He felt faint for a moment, then panicked, then furious, then frightened. Then he said, "What you do you mean he didn't have one, Misa?" Light's voice was slow and dangerous.

"There was no name above his head. I only saw the number that was his life span. I was going to ask Rem about it, what it meant... but then I got arrested..."

L. Ryuuzaki. Ryuga Hideki. Erald Coil. Denuve. Edward Williams. Zayeed Raberba. Charles Pavlov. Lawliet. All of those names that Rem had so desperately written, none of them was a name that that fucking bastard called his own.

In that case, L was essentially immune to the Death Note.

In that case... Light would have to kill him with his bare hands.

_-To Be Continued...  
_

* * *

Author's Notes: 

1. This was, sadly enough, inspired by my L death-fic, _Faith of an Atheist_. I had explored the idea of L's real name meaning nothing to him, so maybe the Death Note wouldn't affect him... and now I have a storyline planned out focusing on just that.

2. At this point in my story plans, shounen-ai WILL ensue, but this also won't be a Romeo-and-Juliet-true-love-fluff... I don't necessarily want romance to be the number one focus. ...More importantly I just want to let L and Light act realistically and in-character to the best of my abilities.

3. Yes, some of those L names are made up. I figured that he has like a billion of them, so why not take creative liberties.

I'm going to try really hard not to abandon this one... the reason I usually only write one-shots is because I always get distracted and never finish actual stories. So if you enjoyed this beginning, wish me luck. ;-) If you didn't, well, you know. Shit happens.

Thank you for reading! -Serria


	2. Bewildered Machine

**DESIDERATUM: Chapter 2**

Disclaimer: I have a confession to make. I don't own Death Note. I'm sorry if I deceived anyone... ha, ha.**  
**

**BEWILDERED MACHINE **

* * *

Mogi had gently but firmly lead a light-headed L toward one of the bedrooms on the top floor of the headquarters with what was meant to be a comforting hand on his narrow back. Matsuda had given a sort of half-hearted encouragement as he followed along, only half hearted because the normally cheerful young cop's face very accurately displayed his uncomfortable feelings. That honesty was a nice change. Everyone else was always pretending - he knew this, because he also wore a mask of stone. 

But everything that used to be stone seemed shattered now. When they were going up a final set of stairs, L had decided that it would be better if he didn't abandon Mr. Wammy's body. He reversed and started back down the stairs.

"Come on, Ryuuzaki... It'll just be harder if you go back down," Matsuda said pleadingly.

"It's not hard, nothing's hard for me," L mumbled hollowly in return.

Mogi was less of a pushover. He wrapped his hand around L's slim arm in an impenetrable grip and said a simple, "Let's keep going." At that point, L was going along regardless with the larger man's intentions. Everything again went hazy as he forgot why his legs were functioning.

When they reached the bedroom, Mogi shut the door behind them and leaned against it, crossing his arms and releasing a sigh along with the youth's arm. Matsuda sat maladroitly on one of the reclining chairs, glancing awkwardly out the small window. L blinked, still unsure what to believe, and stepped deftly onto a bed. He lowered himself into his crouched position, and then threw himself backwards so that he was laying down. He sprawled out on the soft mattress, his gaze up on the ceiling above.

"Are you doing okay, Ryuuzaki?" Matsuda asked in a hopeful attempt to break the silence.

L didn't answer. His brain was very tired right then. He could hardly take in what had just happened. Something about Mr. Wammy, something about the Death Note, something about Lawliet... It just was not registering. What he really needed more than anything was a handful of sugar cubes, or a slice of French silk pie, or even a cup of chocolate milk. Sugar was the electricity that ran the computer that was his mind. Out of fuel. Sustenance required for further operation.

Ha, ha. His lips twisted into a smirk at that thought.

"It'll be okay, Ryuuzaki. Are you feeling all right?" Matsuda pressed on. "I know, I'll make you some tea. Would that make you feel better?"

Again, L had no answer, because he didn't exactly understand the question. What he did notice was that the ceiling had tiles. Rows of six, columns of eight, that made forty eight. Six and eight jumped over the gate, and met at forty eight. That little rhyme made sense in English, anyway. In Japanese it did not. Nothing made sense since he arrived in Japan. Was that where he was, anyway? Where had he been before that? Had it been Russia or Nigeria? Why had he been in Nigeria anyway? Oh, that was three years ago.

Wait... what? Did he even speak Nigerian? He racked his brain, and then laughed inwardly when he recalled that Nigerian wasn't a language. Nigeria hadn't even been 'Nigeria' for a whole century yet. There were several different dialects there. How many of those did he know? Well, he couldn't quite remember what he knew. The logical plan would be to go back to Nigeria and find out. It was a trial and error approach, efficient enough...

Watari wouldn't like that very much though. Watari didn't like staying in Nigeria because of the endless crime, murder, and near civil war. Well, where was Kira then, huh? Where was Kira when it came to how the world truly operated? Why didn't he end civil war and stop political assassinations and bring order and 'justice' to the places that needed it most? Why did he sit in his little Japanese room assuming that everything he saw on TV actually mattered? That in the long run, killing a rapist or a mere murderer really changed anything? The _law_ could handle criminals that were already behind bars. But it had a harder time helping the countries that needed a superhero most... That was because he was just a teenager, with delicate young round eyes that _thought_ they understood because they so usually _did_ when it came to schoolwork and... just a...

Kira... wait... what?

"Ryuuzaki! I have an idea. Let's play a card game. Let's play poker."

"Tota, will you be quiet?" the normally quiet Mogi said with uncharacterized irritability, using the man's first name very informally. Well they were actually good friends out of the uniform, L vaguely recalled, so that would be okay.

Ha, ha. Japan and its strict formalities. Lawliet had learned that back at Wammy's... at... hm, L couldn't seem to recall what he had just been thinking about.

L rolled over onto his stomach. The bed's dull red blankets were also tiled in rows of yellow-green boxes. But they were small tiles, so this would take some counting. Oh yes, but he would not have to count every single tile. Actually, he could count the rows, and then the columns, and multiply them together... that would make for an accurate count. But he couldn't start counting in the middle of the blanket. He crawled over to the edge of the bed and grabbed a side with his fingers and studied it with fervency. One, two, skip a few... three, four, shut the door, nine, ten, a big fat hen... wait, that wasn't right.

"Ryuuzaki?" It was Mogi who interrogated him this time.

"What do you want?" L asked, still studying the tile pattern.

"Uh, pardon? I don't understand..."

L frowned. Those pieces didn't seem to go together. Mogi had said _sumimasen, watashi wa wakarimasen_. Let's see. That was Japanese. Ah, how silly, he had been speaking in English! Then he must be in Japan, because that's where they spoke Japanese. He didn't think that any other country predominantly spoke that language. So why did it even exist in the first place? Perhaps it would be pragmatic for everyone to have the same language so that they would always understand. Oh, but people would fight over which language to choose, so probably they could just put all the languages together. Wait... no, because then how would they decide where to put the adjectives? Maybe that man would understand English. "Do you speak English?" L asked, but he was sure to use the words _anata wa eigo ga hanashimasu ka_.

"_No_, I just said that I didn't..."

"L doesn't look right. Mogi-san, is L okay?" Matsuda asked.

"Oh, I'm okay, thank you," L drawled, putting his finger on the place where had been counting the squares to mark it. Now he would remember that he was at fifty-four. Hold it. Was it fifty-two? It was easy to mix those up because they were both even numbers. "I hope I'm speaking Japanese this time, it seems that's all you can comprehend."

"Of course that's all! Well, I mean, I have taken some Mandarin... how many languages do you speak, Ryuuzaki?" Matsuda apparently was very fond of conversation.

L blinked, trying to focus on the young Japanese man that sat on that chair. He craned his neck behind him to see better. "Why do you want to know? Are you Kira?"

"Ah! Mogi-san! What's wrong with L?"

"Because Kira wants me dead but I'm gonna kill him first," L continued. Probably in Japanese. Or maybe Nigerian... ha, ha, of course not! It was a joke. Though jokes did have to be said out loud, otherwise they weren't funny. Mr. Wammy might like that one, where had he gone off to, anyway? And what about Kira? That was probably more important, but L couldn't for the life of him remember why. "Where did he go? He was Japanese, like you guys. But there are a lot of that type around here, right? Aren't we in Japan? Hm, well, Mr. Wammy knows. Where's Wammy?"

Matsuda was in a stunned silence and gave Mogi a troubled look. Then he peeped out, "He must need some sugar. It's been over an hour since he had some last. Or, no, it's because he's not sitting like he usually does! He says his reasoning ability goes down if he doesn't sit like that..."

Mogi sighed again, and stepped forward to where L was laying draped on the covers. "Ryuuzaki-san, please look at me."

_He said 'Ryuuzaki', in reference to me. _L looked up with wide eyes at the heavy-set Kanzo Mogi. "Wammy is practiced at keeping track of things. I'll probably ask him where Kira is. I think I met him once, and if I remember right, I liked him a lot. Say, do you sumo wrestle?"

Mogi lifted a hand of iron and brought it crashing down at L's upright face. The lanky youth went falling backwards with a look as stunned as Matsuda's. Mogi then reached forward and grabbed him by his white cotton shirt collar, pulling him upright. "Ryuuzaki-san!" he said firmly. "You need to stop this. Watari, the one you're calling Wammy, is dead. The Shinigami killed him just an hour and a half ago. We still need to catch Kira, with more motivation than ever now. I don't know anyone who could catch Kira except for you, so you can't waste time acting like this."

L's face stung pink from the blow. It felt good. Alien, but good. He couldn't tell if his head felt like it was swimming, or had finally stopped swimming, or... After he had thoroughly enjoyed the peculiar feeling, he went over those words that were definitely in a comprehensible tongue. And suddenly, and unmercifully so, they registered in his mind.

The detective nodded toward Mogi and slowly uncurled the hand that held his shirt with his own fingers. The bigger man complied and L settled down in a sitting position, hugging his legs. "So Watari is dead," he said in what he for sure knew was Japanese.

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry, Ryuuzaki!" Matsuda cut in again.

"How awful..." He couldn't quite find the words that he wanted to say, but he felt as though he did want to say something. There was a perfect sentence in Russian that he thought about uttering, but what was the point in saying something if no one could understand? So he buried his face in his knees instead. His throat suddenly felt very sore, anyway. "It's cold in here, isn't it," he murmured finally, because he couldn't think of anything else to say and it was true.

"Come on, then." Mogi pulled L upwards onto his feet. L was confused momentarily about why it mattered whether or not he was standing up. But Matsuda had taken the blanket from the bed, which had been previously weighed down by the detective's slight form. Mogi lowered L again so that he could sit on the red sheets of the mattress, and Matsuda wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.

"There, is that better now?" Matsuda asked with a warm smile.

L squinted at the two officers, because his eyesight seemed to be blurry. "Thank you." Awkwardly he clasped onto the thick fabric with icy fingers and hugged it close to his body. Wammy always had blankets for L, and a cup of tea, and a card game. But Wammy _liked_ Lawliet. No one else did. The police officers resented him and his harsh methods, but that was okay. They had a business deal, and a common goal. They helped each other and they did not have to like him.

So it was of course nothing personal that Mogi-san and Matsuda-san were acting so unpresumptuously. They required his extraordinary services to capture Kira. He was just a piece of precious technology, a computer that had come across a virus. They couldn't afford to lose him, he was worth too much and nearly irreplaceable. He was nothing more than a half-alive being in a dark office, shut behind thick concrete without anyone to love him. He didn't even have... incomplete, inhumane, no soul, no heart, no... _'so none of these are real, huh?'_

So L bowed his head again into his knees again. The denim fabric of his jeans pressed against his cheeks. He turned his face to the side, only to find that the knees of his pants were slightly damp. Come to think of it, his face was damp too, and he detected that there was water in his eyes.

Ah, must've been the rain. Of course, it was such a terrible rainstorm. Outside the window the water fell by the gallon and the wind howled its sad symphony. Even in the shelter of L's high-security headquarters, he couldn't seem to escape the rain. But this time, the bells were hushed. There was nothing calling out to him.

* * *

Because Soichiro was convinced that his beloved son was innocent, when Light asked if he could leave for a few minutes to visit Misa, his father had been quick to agree. Light had smiled a thanks, and perhaps said something about _missing_ her - Misa Amane, of all people - and promised that he would be back at the headquarters before it was too late. However, it wasn't Misa he wanted to see. It was another of those damned Shinigami, but the one he couldn't control - Ryuk. Though truthfully, perhaps the reason that Ryuk was uncontrollable made Light respect him more. Once he gained the ability to manipulate someone, they became little more than pawns to him. 

_And speaking of pawns... _Light stepped into Misa's apartment and ignored its expensive furniture and high class appeal. The hand crafted red oak table and big screen television were just an annoying reminder that Misa was a celebrity. This meant that if she messed up, it could reveal to the world everything about Kira. He had already once been frightened for his life on her account, but thankfully _that_ Shinigami had been atomized.

"Light!" Misa, in dressy Gothic attire and blonde pigtails tied with black ribbons, gleefully wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. "Misa missed her Light so, so very much!"

Light attempted to close the door after him, which was easier said than done with the parasitic female latched on to him. "Where's Ryuk?"

"Oh.." Misa lifted her head and nodded enthusiastically. "Right, Kira business! Ryuk-sama! Where did you go off to?"

"Ah, what's that, is Light here?" In a way, Ryuk, who must have been dozing in the bedroom, sounded almost as excited as Misa to see him. The gangly, dark God of Death wandered into the entryway, an exaggerated grin on his leering face. "My favorite human is here! Hey, buddy, please say you're here to reclaim your Death Note. I can't stand this broad much longer, and she doesn't even have a PlayStation..."

Light took an uninvited seat on a leather couch, crossing one leg over the other. He closed his eyes for a moment to block away the headache that he could see approaching."Ryuk, I need to talk to you."

Ryuk smirked, still standing. A God of Death smirking in his face would never cease to be uncomfortable to Light, even though he more or less (mostly less) trusted the being. "You're welcome to talk all you want, kid, but unless you're telling me more Street Fighter cheat codes, you know I might not answer."

Misa pounced upon the couch next to Light, curling under his arm like a kitten. "Please be nice to my Light-kun, Ryuk-sama! He's had a rough time, and that L is making it awful for him!"

"Hyuk, hyuk!" The Shinigami let a gurgle of a laugh that came deep from his long throat. "I'm not here to coddle any human and I don't give special treatment. I'm sure not like that Rem."

"No, you're infinitely more alive... if that's what you call your existence," Light snapped.

"O-ho! So Rem finally bit the dust, eh?" Ryuk laughed again. "I love that saying, it's so ironic when you're talking about us Shinigami."

"Rem... what happened to Rem?" Misa asked in a sudden, surprising concern. "She didn't-"

"Ryuk. What does it mean when a man has no name?" Light was in no mood to spend time repairing Misa's feelings. She would forgive him later anyway, without a doubt.

"No name, eh?" Ryuk casually strolled over the counter, where Misa had left out a wicker basket of picturesque red apples. He snatched one in to long, pointed claws, and took a gushing bite. "All the humans _I've_ killed have had names."

"Clearly. But what if one didn't?"

"Ahh, you're the genius, why don't you tell me?" There was a darkly jolly twinkle in his bulging round eyes as he regarded the boy. "Why do you think the Death Note kills in the first place? What d'you suppose it is about a name?"

Indeed this was something that Light had wondered on numerous occasions. Being someone who was very logically minded, he had idly wondered what kind of scientific weight a man-made name could have. He hadn't lingered to far into the issue though, because it had never seemed terribly relevant. "I would guess that it has a psychological impact on a person. In which case it would have to be the name that the person thought of his or herself as. Usually we think of ourselves as our legal names, so that's always why those names have killed."

"I dunno," Ryuk shrugged, basically affirming what Light said to be true.

"So if they don't have a name... they are lacking something psychologically?"

"Could be. Misa, do you see names above animals?"

"No... not at all," Misa answered, apparently still trying to cover her composure.

"So I'm right. Names are a man-made thing, and they only work if you feel attached enough to them make them your identity. So L doesn't think of himself as any of the names that Rem tried to write down," Light thought out loud. Another thought passed him with mere curiosity. "Is the Death Note binding to the future, if it unsuccessfully worked in the usual designated time? If somebody started to have a self identity again and associate themselves with a name previously written down, would they die?"

"Light." Ryuk leaned forward, grinning wildly. "You're a riot."

That seemed to be the best he would get out of that demonic creature. As Light walked in the rain back to the headquarters, inwardly he knew that any shot he could take would be a near-impossible gamble as long as L was in such a high-security position. When would it be logical to take a rash move forward? It was a desperate situation. L would test the thirteen day rule again, any time, and Light would again be handcuffed and imprisoned. Misa would too, and they might find Misa's Death Note. The killings would stop and...

It was game over then. He could already see L's leering face looking at him from outside an execution chamber, saying something in a false sympathetic voice about how he wished that Light-kun had been innocent. He hated L all over again, and assured himself that not a single, tiny cell in his being had been relieved that his had rival survived the murder.

* * *

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but L deduced that he must have fallen asleep. He had concluded this because he stopped remembering things, and then the next time he remembered that he was remembering, the rain had stopped and the sky was lighter. That sky was still filled with thick, gray clouds but it was no longer submitting liquid to the forces of gravity. This was the first thing that L saw when he opened his eyes, gazing out the window. 

Then he noticed his body and immediate surroundings. He must have tossed and turned in the night, because he was curled up in a mess of sheets and blankets. His legs and arms were haphazardly spread around the king sized mattress, and his waist was twisted and bent. Light Yagami had once cursed at him for taking all the blankets when they slept when they had been chained together. Well, what could L say, it was a dog-eat-dog world.

_Light Yagami... it's always been either you or me._

L sat up, and out of habit he looked around the bed for some sign of the brunette. But there was no Light to be found. Oh, of course, L had released Light from the handcuff. Because there was no evidence to... wait, why was Matsuda asleep in the reclining chair?

L blinked his wide eyes. The young cop was fast asleep. The jacket of his suit had been neatly laid out on the small table by the chair, and his navy dress shirt was partially unbuttoned. Apparently, Matsuda had been watching over him in the night. Wait, what was that? _No one_ watched over L. L watched over _them_.

Wait...

"Matsuda-san?" L asked out loud. The cop didn't respond, except for perhaps shutting his sleep-captive eyes even tighter. "Matsuda-san!"

At that, Matsuda's eyes twitched, and slowly an eye opened. He let out a sleepy sigh as he shook his head to wake up, and then he languidly turned fully to the detective. "Uhn... 'morning, Ryuuzaki."

"Matsuda-san, is Watari dead?" There was no point in beating around the bush. A detective just required hard facts without pleasantries and small talk. This was no time to be insidious, and he didn't want anyone to be insidious toward him. Of course, this _was_ Matsuda he was talking to.

Matsuda visibly froze. Hesitantly he answered, "Yes. Don't you...?"

"I remember." L untangled his legs from the covers and slipped off the bed. His feet felt a little numb, but he still thought that the ground was cold. He walked to the door.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"I don't know. Where there are more answers."

"Ah. Uh! Can you wait? I'll come with you, Ryuuzaki-kun!" Matsuda fumbled with his shirt and the jacket. "Just give me a second!"

L didn't stop though. He exited, shutting the door behind him, and walked down the hallway. He wasn't sure if he exactly wanted to go there, but his feet were leading him to the main headquarters office. Instinct wanted to walk over to Wammy's private office and wish him a good morning. Maybe they could have a quick cup of tea... ah, no. No, logic told him, that couldn't exactly happen now.

Matsuda caught up to him, panting, but L did not acknowledge him. Matsuda actually took the hint and was therefore quiet as he trailed him like an uncertain puppy.

L opened the door to the main investigation room. He must have slept a long time, because Soichiro Yagami and Light and even Aizawa and Hideki Ide were there. Papers and files were sprawled across the large desk and the men drank their coffee (tragically all black, not one packet of sweetener in sight), talking quietly among themselves. But when they saw L, every one of them was silent. Light was the only one who looked away in discomfort. Appropriate.

"Good morning, everyone," L said in his usual polite-yet-detached tone. He walked to the counter where someone had already made the morning tea. He ignored the eyes that stared at him, and poured himself a cup.

"Ryuuzaki, how are you feeling?" Soichiro asked, standing up.

"Mm. I'm adequate, thank you." Someone had put a considerably sized glass bowl, full of sugar cubes, right next to the tea. That was nice. For the last couple of weeks, somebody had always been hiding it or putting the cubes in an inconvenient place. He had derived that the culprit was Soichiro, because he was always hinting that he didn't think L's diet was healthy. Anyway, it was kind that he decided to lay off on that today. Or perhaps he had merely forgotten? Either way, L took a handful of the white crystal cubes gratefully and plopped them, one by one, into the tea. "What's the criminal count for last night?"

Plop, plop, plop.

"There were no deaths." It was Light who said this. L caught some peculiar tone, as if Light were trying to subtly prove some point. The detective decided not to bother analyzing this - it could mean any number of things, but L already knew that he was Kira, and he really just wanted his tea.

Plop.

"Ah. Okay." He popped one extra sugar cube in his mouth, and then took the hot mug and walked to his computer chair. The sugar cube felt so nice as it melted under his tongue. He stretched his sore neck to one side, and then the other. There was a reassuring _crack_ as tension was released. He stepped onto the chair and lowered himself into a crouch. "Who's got the current events? We might as well track who Kira will probably murder next, anyway."

"Wait." Soichiro approached him, and out of the corner of his eyes, L saw a face creased in a frown. "Ryuuzaki... it's all right. We don't need you here today. Nothing has happened that we can't control, and I'd like it if you just took a day off."

"Why would I do that?" L asked in very mild curiosity.

"Because... you've been through a lot. Or are you... still..?" It didn't take the world's greatest detective to detect what the older man was implying.

"Watari's dead," he said plainly, setting the mug on the counter by his keyboard. And with a voice like an arrow directed at Light, he added, "And I think I can pin it more or less as another of Kira's murders. As far as I can interpret things, the Shinigami would have no motivation to kill him, and it was an ever so convenient detail for Kira that he died. The pieces fit together perfectly, all I need to do is find the hard evidence. All I want to do right now is capture Kira and send him to his execution. What do you think, Light-kun?"

Light paused for a split second, but this was long enough for L to know he caught the remark. That was an additional third of a percent as far as evidence of his crime went. "It's brilliant that you were able to deduct such a thing. However, I'm reluctant to assume that we know anything at all about Shinigami and why they do what they do. As you had said before, it would be informative if we could somehow find another to learn more..."

"Yes. And there is at least one more Kira still out there who is active, without a doubt. Higuchi's death proves this. It seems to me a little like we're back at the start again without a lead, but we do have that Death Note now. Somehow, maybe we can use it to bait a Kira..." L bit at his thumbnail, thinking. He removed it to sip the sugary substance that perhaps still could be called 'tea'. The hot liquid felt incomplete. It was missing something... "Matsuda-san, please bring me a doughnut."

"Uh, sure..."

"Aizawa-san, could you please confirm one more time that the deaths in that notebook line up exactly with the deaths we have on record? What we're going to do is check how many of the total victims lost their lives from this particular book. Logically, all of the Kira's have been committing these murders, so which have committed which? Categorize them. If we could find some pattern, we can work out who the Kiras out there are more likely to kill... a shot in the dark, but I don't want to overlook that..."

"We've been checking the names throughout this morning," Aizawa affirmed. "We're not even half way done, but everything is matching up so far."

"Okay. Even so, please keep going. We can't afford to miss a single detail. It absolutely has to be thorough. Ide-san, could you please look into the profiles again of all the victims? Since this one was Higuchi's notebook, I imagine it will have every single one of the business world victims. If it doesn't however, we might perhaps guess that another Kira from some large corporation found a Death Note."

"Ryuuzaki?" Matsuda called from in the kitchen area, a little cautiously. "There are no doughnuts left. There's cheesecake, would you like that instead?"

"No, I want a doughnut," L said with irritation. Of all the people he had worked with, these Japanese cops seemed the most incapable. "Of course there are doughnuts, Watari always keeps plenty of them. Someone call him, please, he'll tell you where to find them."

No one moved.

L glanced backwards at Matsuda. "Please, Matsuda-san. I consider this to be a very important matter..."

Again, Light's eyes were downcast as he pretended to very intently read some document. Everybody else just stared. Matsuda's mouth opened slightly as if he wanted to say something but didn't know exactly what. Aizawa and Ide exchanged glances. Mogi looked toward Soichiro, who watched L with pained eyes.

L felt annoyed all over again at first. It was awkward, especially when one was so used to working alone. Then he realized his mistake. He had quite simply forgotten. That didn't usually happen, but so it did, why were they all staring? He turned back to the monitor, wondering if he were blushing. "It's okay, Matsuda-san, nevermind. I'm not hungry anyway."

Soichiro cleared his throat. "Ryuuzaki, you haven't exactly been sleeping much these past few weeks, and you've been stressed. I would like you to just take today off and rest some more to clear your head."

"If I left, who do you think would lead this investigation? _Light-kun_?" He hadn't meant to say that name, it just sort of blurted out - another thing that he didn't, as a rule, do. Luckily, his tone was as collected and detached as it always was so it probably didn't sound sarcastic. "There's no benefit at all to me leaving. In fact, this is L's investigation in the first place. So not only is that a pointless hypothesis, I have no intention or desire in doing so."

"You don't even know what's what!" Soichiro said with sudden frustration. He slammed a heavy fist down on the counter, which made a loud noise. "You're never going to be able to recover if you keep pushing this to the back of your mind! You need to take the time to just think about things, before you start worrying about Kira!"

L thought this was stupid, and he didn't much like that Yagami-san was yelling at him, either. "Take time to... think? But I'm always thinking. I can't afford a luxury like not worrying about Kira. Ever since I started this case I knew that at any moment he could potentially kill me. And nothing's changed. I don't have-"

Something else conveniently pushed aside: _Looks like she tried to write your name in the Death Note, too. ... But why aren't you dead, Ryuuzaki? Wasn't that the right name? Do you even remember?  
_

L stood up and walked toward the table where Aizawa, Ide and Mogi sat. Among the pile of documents was the Death Note that Rem had, pushed to the side of the other papers like an unwanted outsider. He seized it in his slender fingers like a cat clawing out at a rodent.

"Ryuuzaki..." Light said quietly, looking at him.

L ignored that and opened the note. He paged through it, noticing with an irony how normal the paper looked. It was against all logic that simple paper could kill a healthy old man, not one as strong as... There, at the end of the list, there was _Quillsh Wammy_. He took this in with nothing more than a vacant expression and a throat void of moisture. But under that name...

It was amazing how many names the Shinigami had managed to write in such a short period of time. Those names meant nothing to L, so he marveled without passion at them. That was why he had fake identities; so killers and gods couldn't touch him. One of them, which one was it, the one that they told him that... told him, what?

**Lawliet**. The last name, right before unreadable, desperate scribblings.

"I-I thought that..." L stammered out loud, but quietly, and the voice drifted away. _I thought that that was my name. No? Resolved: A Shinigami has the eyes to see the names of humans, and this power is transferable to Kiras. This is the only probable explanation as to why Rem could have killed Wammy. She meant to kill me, too... what happened? She wrote the name, didn't she? _

What if... L didn't have a name? A lonesome despair filled his stomach, his throat and his eyes. Everybody else had a name. If he didn't have one, what then? If his name couldn't kill him, what then? _  
_

_No humanity, no soul, no..._

He had concluded early on that Kira needed a name and a face to kill. This Death Note was the murder weapon. L had taken care to keep his identity hidden - but no, that was a lie. What identity had he had in the first place? Some orphan child with a mother who apologetically handed him that word before she was gone, dropped him off in the streets. Some word, just a sound. Didn't mean much. He created some new names but he called those his aliases. 'Lawliet' was shrugged off, but even so... he thought that... no, had he even thought anything? That 'Lawliet' never even meant anything in the first place, he knew it was useless because so what if they found out that he was an orphan? The thing was that from country to country he preferred to pick names that matched the language, and Lawliet wasn't a very practical name...

But he thought... he thought... It was supposed to take a name and a face, and he had a face, didn't he? Instinctively he brought a shaking hand to his cheek, and his fingers touched his lips. Yesterday Light had said, 'so none of these names are real, huh, Ryuuzaki' and he had been surprised. Of course if Rem and Kira were to kill Watari they would want to kill L, and if the Shinigami have the power to see a name, like the Second Kira... then... but he thought... wait... what?

He couldn't have thought. He never thought. He always pushed himself and stayed up late and sat crouched so that he would think about the right things in the right side of his brain. If the wrong things came out... he never thought about the wrong things... but if he never exercised that, maybe a real name was in the wrong things, and, maybe he had lost too much of his humanity by always calling himself somebody else that there was nothing original left there.

If L is nobody, then who is fighting Kira? Just a machine? _They_ had given him the most elite of an education, many years ago, and taught him many things about many things. When he had completed they found him detective jobs and told Mr. Wammy that he needed to help out L and make sure he stayed alive. Precious technology capable of doing brilliant things. Don't interfere with that. Just keep him alive and secret... Ahh... L felt dizzy. _Lawliet_...

Suddenly the Death Note was gone from his hands. Soichiro had removed it, and put a gentle hand on L's shoulder. "It'll be okay, Ryuuzaki," he said softly.

"Yes," he responded automatically. A truth. What was there to not be okay? Only normal humans needed names, and L was not a normal human. He was the perfect detective after all. If he didn't have a real name, that was perfect too, because then nothing, no _Kira_ could stop him. Logically of course this was the greatest hand of cards he could be granted; he was unbreakable. Lawliet was apparently nothing more than a premature baby, born without a heartbeat. That child could be buried along with Quillsh Wammy."When is the funeral?"

Soichiro was oblivious to the words in L's head, and quietly he said, "They're going to call us back about it, but it will likely be in about three days. It'll be a private government funeral, of course, so you'll be hidden from the public..."

"Oh, I'm not going." Another ridiculous notion.

"I think you should. Funerals help bring closure to-"

"No. Security reasons." That answer would have to suffice. Being overcome with weariness, he was tired of having to explain concepts to these fools about why he did what he did. Obviously, being the only Caucasian at a Caucasian man's funeral who was the acclaimed Watari of all people and known conspicuously among the governments of the world and the funeral, which was private, and would be full of government officials... of course even those idiots would figure out that he was L.

Not like it mattered. What did a soulless computer have to fear about his identity? ...Spyware? Now _that_ was a good joke.

"Is your job really so important to you that you can't take a break, even now?" The aging man looked as helpless as Light did guilty, apparently realizing that it would be impossible to order L around.

Of course it was. L didn't say it out loud, but of course it was. Wasn't it? Justice couldn't afford to sleep, not when there were criminals to catch. ... The program couldn't be exited, not while there were viruses to eliminate... not while... It was a string of computer coding. _That's all you are, you know. Not even the Gods saw anything else to call you. And Quillsh Wammy isn't here to hide you anymore._

Justice is for humans. _I'm the anti-virus.  
_

For some reason, the job felt sour now.

_-To Be Continued...  
_

* * *

**Author's Notes:  
**

1. First, wow, thank you _everyone _for the reviews. I read them and they made me smile. It's extremely encouraging, I hope this fic lives up to your expectations!

2. Concerning L's past... you're all going to have to accept this story's facts as correct. I'm basically taking all you find out from the anime and manga and keeping true to that, but I know more official stuff is coming out concerning L's past (not to mention apparently a live-action movie?). So some of this might eventually become outdated and inaccurate, but let's pretend it isn't, okay great. :-)

3. Just like in that other story I wrote, I made L not Japanese. It seems unlikely to me, especially since, being a resident at Wammy's House, he grew up in the UK. The only reason that I'm bothering bringing this up is because it might be mentioned in the story later.

4. One more thing about L - the mental ramblings I wrote toward the beginning and end of this chapter aren't -supposed- to make sense. I figured that, while L's practical and problem solving brain is systematic and logical, his emotional side is much less refined, and when he's in a situation where he has to deal with his emotions... chaos ensues. So please don't feel like you need to understand all that weird stuff.

5. Shounen-ai approaches.

I love you all. -Serria


	3. Retreating Inevitability

**DESIDERATUM: Chapter 3  
**

Author's Notes: I realized that I never said this before, so I figured it would be good tact to do so. Better late than never. This story contains L's "real name", as stated by the 13th manga.

Disclaimer: Nope, DN isn't mine. Surprise, surprise.

**RETREATING INEVITABILITY**_  
_

* * *

_With the pink highlighter that he so fearlessly wielded, L had been marking a two-hundred and thirty page packet of Kira investigation research that various smaller facilities through Interpol had e-mailed him that morning. Basically, nothing had been new except for a few additional relevant but hardly unexpected statistics. The only interesting bit had been the number of intellectual property crimes and money laundering, which were basically economic related. Previously that hadn't seemed to merit a heart attack from Kira, but L was certain that things had changed somehow. There was a third Kira. And the Kira that was chained by the wrist next to him... _

_"Hey, Ryuuzaki?" Light's child-like brown eyes flickered over to the detective. They glowed with sincere determination as they made their request. "Can I look through those notes when you're done? Or can you just e-mail it to me? The FBI must have a more thorough report than anyone, and I want to find a pattern in the times of death and the crime itself." _

_"No, the FBI backed out. At least, that's the official stance." L said this matter-of-factly, but the truth was that he was still bitter about that little detail. It had annoyed the hell out of him at the time, especially when they decided to publicly pin the deaths of the twelve agents on _him_. And just because the thought had put him in a foul mood, he decided to toy with his companion. "And no, you can't see it, Light-kun. It's a very confidential document, entrusted to the eyes of the greatest detective L only. Clearly I cannot show such delicate information to unauthorized persons." _

_Light stared, a mock look of disbelief played across his fair features. He knew that L was just teasing him, but he must have wanted to break the monotony of paperwork because he played along. "I know I'm just a lowly suspect, but-" _

_"No, Light-kun, that would be irresponsible of me to allow." L smiled and dangled the packet in his fingers, wiggling it slightly as though it were the tempting forbidden fruit as told in mythology. A sugary forbidden fruit, perhaps dipped in chocolate like fondue. "Why not take a nap and stay out of my business for awhile?" _

_Light laughed good-naturedly, and turned back to his busy computer screen. There was a moment of quiet when neither of them spoke, a sort of eye-before-the-storm feeling. And then Light made his move - he sprung to his feet and leaped at L, long fingers snatching at the document. The force of Light's body knocked back the swivel chair that L had been sitting on, and suddenly they were on the tile floor, intertwined by the limbs, each shoving the other down as well as trying to get the packet- _

_And then it ripped. The hasty pile of staples that L had shoved in the corner after he printed it off were forced to deformation and pulled out, making their purpose useless. _

_Light beamed victoriously as he stood up with his half-a-document and sat back down lazily on his chair. His nose was raised arrogantly as he mockingly dangled the paper with his thumb and middle finger, like L had been doing earlier. "I win." _

_"That was- ow!" L rubbed his head with exaggerated annoyance at the spot where it had slammed against the floor. "That was half a win!" But he was grinning too, and not just because he hadn't cared about the papers in the first place (Light had ended up with the half that he had already read, anyhow.) For all the times that he had lied to Light (he had lost count), and known that Light was lying to him (approximately three hundred and twelve probable lies, and countless unconfirmed), he still felt genuinely happy sitting next to the strong-willed boy he dared to call 'friend'. It took him a minute to once again make sense of the dull symbols on the paper that must have been his job. _

The two youths whose brilliance were to inevitably be their downfall sat without looking at each other, surrounded by paperwork and computer monitors. The room was completely dark and lit only by the screens of those computers (which truthfully did light up the room sufficiently), and that brightly-dim mechanical moonlight showed a messy headquarters room with papers, books, and technological equipment. Yes, they had been in this position a hundred times in consecutive, long nights. But this time there was no handcuff to chain them together, and that must have made all the difference.

"Ryuuzaki?" Light tried to begin another awkward conversation with the unusually quiet detective, mainly because the silence was more offensive to his ears than L's snippy Kira accusations. Because it was midnight, the other cops had gone home for the night, leaving the young geniuses completely alone in the large building doing what Light knew more than anyone was blind, pointless research. Maybe L knew it too, in fact, probably, but no alternatives had been suggested as of yet. "You don't look like you have a lot of energy right now, would you like me to make you some coffee? Or else we can call it a day and go to bed."

L didn't answer. His eyes were narrowed as he stared at his own monitor and his face was grim. It was an unusual expression from the normally detached-yet-polite Ryuuzaki. Not that Light had ever found his courtesy sincere; on the contrary, it made him want to punch the bastard - and he had, on multiple occasions. But now there was a haunting aura. What was the most haunting of all was the untouched sweets that surrounded him. That day, Matsuda had brought him three slices of cheesecake, a freshly baked platter of chocolate chip cookies (it was store bought cookie dough, but L had never complained before), and a container of strawberry pocky. Nothing had so much as a finger print on it, let alone teeth marks.

"Ah, silly me," Light laughed delicately, looking away and concealing his clenched fists. "It is only midnight. The night is still young."

"You go to bed," L answered finally, but his lifeless ebony, black-rimmed eyes never left his computer's screen. "At your house. You don't have any reason to be here any longer."

It was a snappish thing for even L to say, because although he often said cold things they were usually masked with politeness. But Light shrugged. "I've already decided to dedicate myself to this case, in order to prove my innocence and catch the criminal who put me through so much trouble. I'd rather stay here and do what I can. I want to help you, Ryuuzaki..."

L was back to ignoring him, but that was answer enough. _You are Kira, and it is you that we'll catch._ Light tightened his lips and fumbled aimlessly around with documents and profiles of people he knew he had killed, or had told Misa to kill. The truth was that he wouldn't have minded going home right then, and visit with his mother and Sayu. Mostly just to get away from L, who should have been a corpse right then. The more he thought about it - and it was hard not to think about it - the angrier he became. L was more than just a thorn in his side. Light felt like a wild animal whose foot was stuck in a steel trap in the middle of the woods, and he could only stand there and wait until some hunter found and shot him.

_But don't get me wrong, L. You're still going to die. I'll still be the one who wins... somehow._

"Well then... I'm going to go take a shower." Light stood up, and to his further frustration, L again offered no response. Not even a twitch of his eyes. "Everything that's happened has really been weighing down my mind, so I feel like I'm not accomplishing anything right now anyhow. I guess I'm not as disciplined as you." Still, nothing. He wished that he could tear his fingernails into L's throat and end it all right there, and because he suddenly wished this, he said one more thing. "I wonder if Rem saw all of those names when she tried to-"

"Leave." The command was in L's quiet voice, it was small and but forceful.

Light realized that he had been holding his breath, and he exhaled sharply. "Goodnight, Ryuuzaki."

But with an intensity of an owl, L had been watching the younger boy. Not with his eyes, but he had been watching anyway. It was annoying that Light was insisting on staying at the headquarters, and L knew the real reason why he was choosing to. But in the end it didn't matter too much. No one monitored the greatest detective of all time. Light would soon find out that his efforts would be in vain. Too bad.

L strained his ears to hear the sound of water running in the bathroom across the hall. Without a second thought and especially not a feeling of any sort - for there was no mercy, there never had been - L reached for his phone. He clicked on the voice-masking mechanism, and he dialed the personal number of Howard Dressler, a long array of international buttons that he had memorized.

Though it was a late hour by the reckoning that Dressler would perceive, the phone only rang twice before it was hastily answered, an elder man's voice in English. "L! God, L, we've been trying to contact you since we heard about Watari! What the hell is going on? Did Kira kill him? Are you safe? If you like, we can provide you a new assistant, too."

L's expression suited his tone - empty. "Mr. Dressler," he said, matching the man's native language. "Watari last spoke to you about the experiment that I would like to conduct."

"Yes, but the details were unfortunately never elaborated upon. He told me to find two criminals on death-row whose names were never publicly released, something about testing if they die or not..."

_Thirteen days,_ L thought mechanically, as robbed of emotion as he might have been dead. _And then, Light..._

Then L was overcome by an ocean of unwanted, incomprehensible thoughts. Data too corrupted and complex for a computer to handle... and it took a minute before he realized that he was ignoring the President of Interpol.

* * *

The funeral was scheduled immediately. The reason for the quick decision was that the Japanese police had contacted International Criminal Police organization, or as it was more commonly known, Interpol or ICPO. Interpol positively did not want it spreading that Watari was dead, because if the public found out, they would question L's position. Ever since the confrontation and challenge that aired publicly on television, and the death of Lind L. Tailor, L represented the world's opposition to Kira. If rumors began to spread that L had died, too, along with Watari, or even received a heavy blow, then faith in Kira would increase. 

Interpol still took an official stance against Kira. Of course they did, L thought wryly, they took a stance against anyone and anything that possibly challenged the order and organization of world society. The organization was big enough to not be scared off easily, too. Certainly by the book they followed a constitution of guidelines: the criminals they pursue must be affecting multiple countries, the crimes must violate human rights, and so forth. The Kira case was guilty of these for sure. Ironically enough, the world on its own wasn't so organized in the first place, as Kira himself seemed to have noticed, but no one could say that the ICPO didn't try. Or perhaps people did say that, because they didn't know about all of the strictly top-secret investigations and arrests that they engaged in. L didn't care what they did - they were funding his crusade against Kira. Not that Wammy wasn't already more than a little well off, but the ICPO's resources had been useful in more than one situation.

L had ignored Soichiro's pleas and chose to sit on the black leather couch as opposed to attending Wammy's funeral. He simply told them to enjoy themselves (later he wondered if perhaps that was an inappropriate remark, suggesting that one might enjoy oneself at a funeral), and left them, mentally at least, in favor of his own thoughts. The police force and Light all dressed in black suits and carried black umbrellas to match, but the detective knew that there was only a seven percent chance of rain anyhow. He didn't bother telling them this, because Soichiro was already sighing and shaking his head, mumbling something about Ryuuzaki needing time to rest. L had such an unnaturally burning headache that he was almost inclined to agree.

Mogi must not have left with the others though, because he was in the kitchen area, heating up a kettle of tea on the stove. L looked toward him and blinked, asking him if he could add some honey please when he was finished, if he was willing to share the tea. The question received an affirmative grunt and nod of the head, and L went back to his own scattered thoughts. Everything seemed awfully far away though and the back of his mind wondered if maybe he really did die when Rem wrote all of those names in her Death Note.

Tick, tick, tick, the clock on the wall said. It was stupid that there was a large analog clock there, for heaven's sake every one of the thirty-two computers in this area of the building had a digital time-telling system. Tick, tick, thirteen days.

L had already ripped out a piece of the Death Note and mailed it, yes, _mailed it_ so it wouldn't look suspicious if the wrong eyes laid upon it. The packaged would arrive at Interpol Japan, where it would be sent onward to Europe or America, most likely, until it reached Dressler himself. The President had insisted on setting up the experiment directly, working through various committees to find suitable criminals. The most important part was that their names were secret, so that the real Kira wouldn't possibly get to them first. If Light found out what L had planned, he would certainly make that effort.

"Are you hungry, Ryuuzaki?" Mogi asked.

"No." The _real_ Kira would soon enough call a high security prison cell his home, if Interpol let him last that long. With this evidence, L could put Light under surveillance again, and with the Death Note, he could close in for the kill. It would be done mechanically and without fail, and then the golden boy of Justice would be submitted to the law. Then it would be said and done, and then, and then...

Tick, tick, tick, went the time-telling machine. Such a good thing that L could not die by his name, such a terrible and a good thing. Tick, tick, tick. Ticking the seconds to victory.

But this didn't feel much like a victory. Quillsh Wammy was dead, and it wasn't raining, and he wasn't hungry, and Light would be condemned, and his head really hurt. It might have been okay if L could only recall that his actions were righteous, but what might have been that feeling was interrupted every second by the ceaseless ticking of the damned analog clock.

* * *

_When you die, Light, don't think that your soul will ever be allowed into heaven or hell._

It seemed like the Shinigami still haunted him. Ryuk's face grinning at the things that his favorite human did not know, they made Light shudder. Even if Ryuk was there, everything felt haunting. _No one who uses a Death Note can go to either._

_When you die..._

Watari's casket was a tribute to money. The white wood and gold lining all looked like a king's bed. Watari himself was dressed in a black, English style suit so as he lay in such a thing, he looked like a noble-blooded aristocrat. Light wondered with mild curiosity if Ryuuzaki had ordered the casket himself. Though certainly the detective seemed like an atheist who didn't believe that there would be any Watari left to care about where his body lay, he also had a childish way of thinking sometimes.

_...your soul isn't allowed..._

Light concluded that dead bodies made him anxious. Even though every time he held his pen to compose a ballad of names into the Death Note he had a morbid fascination and a systematic method, he... never really thought about the funerals that followed.

"Light, are you okay?" Soichiro asked.

Light realized that he had been staring at Watari's peaceful, yet clearly dead face in the open casket. He glanced toward his father and answered with honesty, "I was just thinking about what kind of person he was. Would it be dishonorable to look him up sometime, with his real name?"

"If it's okay with Ryuuzaki." Soichiro stood by his son, also watching Watari. A moment passed. "I wonder myself if he had any family that would like to hear about his passing. Surely Ryuuzaki would have contacted them though?"

"You can't be sure with him," Light answered with a little smile. _I was sure that he would be in a casket lying next to the old man right now. I can't afford to make that mistake again._ Well, he had to stop looking at the situation so negatively. At least Watari was out of the way. This had clearly affected L's way of thinking, and that was a good thing. If L was cornered into making some rash move... well, what then? If L didn't have a name, that was still a problem. The only thing to do would be to silence him with his bare hands. He had to get over the fact that L was immune to the Death Note. If he continued to let that bother him, his way of thinking became narrow.

He was _Kira_, for God's sake. He was more creative than this. If L was the only thing standing between Light and the salvation of humanity, L would for sure be silenced.

"Yagami-san! Light-kun!" Matsuda called from across the lobby. The young man carried a ironic contrast to his black suit - a bouquet of colorful flowers. Red, yellow, blue, pink, all tied together with a yellow string at their long spring green stems. The cop reached them, panting, and then set the flowers by the casket. He looked up at Soichiro and Light with a very pleased expression.

"Matsuda-san, I thought you'd be crying," Soichiro noted with a fond smile.

"I might have been crying," the young cop acknowledged with a benevolent laugh. "But that would be embarrassing with all of these higher-ups here."

"Higher-ups?" Light inquired, shifting his eyes to the dark-suited people that he hadn't recognized from the Tokyo Japanese law enforcement. He hadn't asked earlier, but now for some reason it made him feel a little on edge. It was an ominous presence, but who was he kidding? Funerals were supposed to be ominous. "Who are they?"

"Representatives coming to pay their regards, or actually confirm that the great Watari is dead." Soichiro lowered his heavy voice. "Curiosity as to what he really looked like, perhaps? People from United Nations, European Union, FBI, CIA, ICPO, National Criminal Intelligence Service of the UK, Ministry of Justice, and so on. I know that Watari did quite a lot when it came to international peace-keeping organizations."

Matsuda nodded forebodingly. "We all knew it, but it's still seems hard to fully grasp that Watari, who was such a nice old guy, was an important political figure in his own right. He was always serving us ice cream and smiling. I can see why L would be so devastated that he lost him."

"L, you said?" A tall man, though seemingly of Japanese descent but obviously not part of the police force asked. He was thin-lipped and with dominating cheekbones, as well as heavy set - that made his accusing cinder eyes more intimidating. He bowed with a little bob of his head in minimal greeting. "A pleasure to meet you, I'm Seijuro Tetsuya, representative of the ICPO. I've worked with both Watari and L on multiple occasions."

Matsuda gave Light a questioning glance, obviously wondering if he should use his real name or not. Light decided to find out by simply asking, "Are you sure that you should be telling us your name, sir? Kira can kill with just a name and a face."

"Are you supposing that Kira is here to listen, or is watching the video cameras?" Tetsuya asked, curving his lips in a way probably intended as a polite smile. "Interpol sponsors this funeral, we've taken all the appropriate security measures. We've dealt with more than one terrorist in our time. L already contacted us about Kira needing a name and a face to kill, so rest assured the name that I gave you could be false. Either way, you are the Kira Investigation unit, aren't you?"

"Yes, that's us, how could you tell?" Matsuda asked.

"Matsuda-san, I knew your name already. I saw you and Soichiro Yagami at the Interpol meeting a year ago, when we were initially discussing the Kira threat. Watari came and presented L's voice, do you recall?"

"Oh, right! I'm sorry, I didn't remember you!" Matsuda nodded and bowed a proper greeting. "Since you know me already, I don't need to introduce myself, but this is Light."

Tetsuya's hard gaze turned to the youth in such a way that made Light had to consciously keep his own eyes from narrowing. "You seem a little young to be working on the Kira case."

"Oh no, not at all," Matsuda insisted. Light refrained himself from cursing - letting Matsuda do the talking was never a good idea. Soichiro was also glaring at the cop, but the man was completely oblivious. "He's a genius. He goes to Todo university, you know, and he's the Chief's own son! He's helped the police force out twice before this in cracking mysteries!"

"Is he?" Tetsuya gave a wolfish grin. "How nice then that he joins us in the effort to capture Kira. And we _will_ capture him, whoever the hell he is, and when we do he'll wish he never played God in the first place."

"Pleasure to meet you, Tetsuya-san." Light bowed, and wished that Tetsuya was his real name. That would be a sloppy move of course, if a representative died at Watari's funeral, security would have a list of suspects on camera. Interpol didn't seem to have plans to submit to Kira anytime soon, even if some of the smaller organizations that participated in it had backed away shyly. This was the institution that L would submit Light to, if he ever caught him.

The police should have been allies in Kira's crusade to making this world a place of justice. It was... unfortunate.

"It was nice to meet you, Tetsuya-san, but unfortunately we will have to take our leave here. We mourn Watari's death but we still have an investigation to run." Soichiro said this with courtesy, but his tightened features suggested otherwise. His face was grim, obviously not liking that such a man would associate his son with Watari, and potentially ask questions. The fact that he was the eighteen-year-old son of the Tokyo police chief was hardly an excuse to know such a recondite, enigmatic figure. At the time, Light hadn't given the matter much thought, because he was far more concerned with plotting L's defeat.

Later it would come back to haunt him.

* * *

L's mind was a sandwich torn between the two slices of (cinnamon caramel) bread. On one half, the peanut butter (with chocolate chips wedged in) lay dauntingly, and the strawberry jam side oozed agonizingly. If he reached out toward the peanut butter he could think about logical things, like about how he should contact ICPO again to confirm the thirteen-day theory and experiment, about how he should convince Yagami-san to let him lock up Light again, as well as Misa Amane. He could think about the criminal death reports that a hundred and four countries had sent him in the last two hours. He would act on pure reason and neutral deduction, without any emotion, and he would inevitably acquire the evidence that he needed to... 

But the jelly bread lay there, too. If he tried to grab out at the sticky strawberry, everything went to pieces. Flashes of-

_"L, you'll have to be strong," the elderly man said in his natural British accent, smiling under the light in his wrinkled eyes. He put a gnarled old hand on the boy's back, rubbing it gently. "It's not going to be easy, but I believe in the end that you will be just fine..." _

-and then it was gone, and then there again, and then gone. To be even more evasive, L's wringing ears had trouble remembering what name exactly Wammy had called him then, because he had many names that began with 'L'. Or did he call him 'L'? Something was wrong, there was some miscalculation, some error under the strawberry jam...

Of course, L had thought of the sandwich analogy himself. It was easier to think about when he tried to group and graph his emotions. He was stalling as he struggled to reach for both slices.

"The weather is clearing up," Mogi said, sitting on the couch near the detective with his tea, looking out the window.

What name did Wammy call him? Right then, it was a question that stumped L more than any case that he recalled. If only it wasn't today that he should be dead, if only he wasn't being buried, he could ask... Ahh, what useless thoughts. But even so... That was a man who knew a lot of things, and it was the only man who knew much at all about L. That was a man who would have known what L's real name was.

"You aren't eating your marshmellows..." Mogi noted with concern.

But L was already eating his thumb; he gnawed at it with vicious conviction. That was a man who would have known L's real name. Of course, why hadn't he thought of it before? Clearly he had been distracted, but this was just too perfect. Yes, yes, Watari was dead, yes, he understood. But when men keep their thoughts on elaborate, computer databases, you can speak with ghosts if you like. So what if it was all a mistake? What if?

It had been an error. This was what L had deduced. The answer was his for the taking, he just had to move definitely and without wavering.

"We're back," Soichiro called from across the room. L could hear four sets of footsteps - the heavy one belonged to Yagami-san, the steady one to Ide, the quick one to Aizawa, and the clumsy one to Matsuda. And where was Light? Oh, there he was, stepping delicately like he usually did. "Mogi-san, is Ryuuzaki okay?"

"He's been quiet."

L might have been irritated that Soichiro chose to ask someone else about his health when he was sitting right there, and truthfully if he had asked then L might have requested some aspirin because damn, did his head ever hurt, but he found himself not caring enough. The conclusion of what he was going to do was beginning to form in his aching mind. It might have been distorted, but to him it made perfect sense. The tactically superior move - or, no, that was wrong. It was a tactically-lacking move, but it was the only thing he truly, truly wanted now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Light standing next to him. The boy stood awkwardly with his hands jammed into the pockets of his dark pants. Brown irises regarded him with a hard scrutiny and yet they were weary. His lips were pressed tightly, as if he was fighting to keep them still. Wracked with guilt, drenched with disappointment. "Ryuuzaki, I just... wanted to say that I'm sorry for your loss."

L looked up at him and stared a relentless, unblinking gaze. Light, the handsome, perfect, straight-A idealist thought that he was Justice. L believed that he was wrong and had been previously unsympathetic to those brown eyes shaped like almonds that radiated with such passion and cunning. It was those eyes that branded him as Kira, most definitely, in the first place. But Light Yagami was purely mislead. This is what the detective had always believed. _I am Justice._

Justice was a man-made ideal. Now that was all he could think about. A man without a name was no man at all, so where was the concept? More bluntly, if he couldn't even detect his own identity then who was _he_ to fight for such a thing?

When he had called Dressler he had done so without the same feeling or passion that Light must have felt when he nearly killed him. So L's eyes softened as he stared up at the brunette, and then he blurted out, "I reached for the jelly."

"...What?"

Deftly, the detective jumped off of the couch and onto his pale, nimble feet. All eyes were on him again, as if he were a ticking time bomb. Tick, tick, tick, and everyone was watching him. L stopped, and looked around, catching each gaze at least once. Then he said, "For the time being, I am forfeiting the Kira case to all of you. I don't really feel anything anymore."

...Tick, tick, tick.

When no one said anything, L gave a nod of his head. "Alright then, I'm going to pack my things. This building is still reserved in my name and paid under one of my accounts, so you can still use it. Good luck everyone."

Matsuda was the first to speak, raising his voice gingerly like a confused puppy. "Er, Ryuuzaki, I don't understand this test."

"Oh, no test," he answered patiently, realizing that of course it took these cops a little while to comprehend even the most basic statements. "It was just unexpected, and through this understandably impulsive decision I have somewhat of a destination in mind. I've set it all up. This investigation team will work directly with Interpol, and the President himself will be in contact with you. Though they don't know I'm going, because actually they never knew that I came here personally in the first place, so I told him to refer his calls to me to Chief Yagami, is that okay, Yagami-san? He can speak Japanese."

"I don't understand either," Soichiro said, disbelief etching wrinkles in his grim face. His brow was furrowed and his lips were tight. "Are you going somewhere else to investigate? What could you possibly do elsewhere that can't be accomplished here? You said so yourself, Kira is in Japan.."

"I'm forfeiting the case," L repeated, feeling strangely dull. Honestly, Japanese wasn't even his first language, why did he feel like he was the only one fluent? "This means that under current circumstances, I can no longer take part in it."

Tick, tick, tick.

"Why is that?" Light asked. L turned toward him, but the younger boy was looking out the dark window. As if not daring to betray the secrets that might have been bleeding in his eyes, Kira stole no gazes and hid behind his back.

L gave him a peculiar look that Light wouldn't see but was sure to feel. "I can't win against Kira. I could have him arrested and executed, but it's no victory of mine unless I am justice. I told you that I am childish, and I take my cases with heroic intentions. But I don't feel anything now. The only answer for me is to find those heroic intentions again."

Light's head snapped back and his narrowed eyes studied the detective meticulously. "You're going to try to find your name, aren't you."

Tick, tick, tick. L didn't know what to say, so he just stood slouched dumbly, staring at Light.

But the police force had recovered from their previous state of disbelief. Soichiro's face looked somewhere between chillingly frustrated and lividly hot. "This is ridiculous! Ryuuzaki, is that what you're so concerned about? I would think that you should be grateful that there was some kink in the logic of the Death Note and you still have your life!"

"You bastard, you can't just abandon us like this!" Aizawa raged. He seemed the most truly furious out of all of them. L recalled the time that the man had left the case - it must have been a blow to his pride to find out that now his employer was leaving it. He would have to learn how to distance himself from personal pride, like L knew how to do. "I don't like to admit it, but without your help we aren't going to get anywhere!"

"People are dying still!" Matsuda offered his own yelp of disapproval.

Next, Soichiro was talking again. Everything felt a little foggy to L because there was so much sudden commotion, and though he didn't know how, suddenly Soichiro was standing in front of him. His two heavy hands were on L's shoulders, clutching them, and he towered over him. "Listen, Ryuuzaki, I think you do need a break. But you're not in the right mind, and I can't just let you leave. I'll bring you to my own house. We'll tell everyone that you're of some distant relation to my family, and you can stay there and live a normal life until you're ready to come back. I'll call my wife right now."

"Uh.." Awkwardly, L shifted away from Soichiro's hands. If the situation hadn't been so grim, and if there hadn't been so many angry eyes piercing his body, he might have smirked. A direct invitation to stay at Kira's house, how unfortunate that now that was the last thing that he wanted. "No thank you. I'm planning on leaving Japan."

"_No_. I can't let you go anywhere like this!"

And then L was truly feeling something, something that was like fury. He felt his cheeks flush in this sudden rage, and perhaps there was more than one thing wrong with him because he never let anger get the better of him. But he found himself snarling anyway. "Yagami-san! I am not just a computer, and it is extremely rude for you to yell at me like one! Nor are you _my_ Chief, because I do not work for the Japanese police, so you won't be giving me orders! Furthermore, I am an adult and if I want to leave, then that is what I'll do! Don't insinuate as to stopping me, that is something that I will _not_ allow."

With that, the youth turned and left down the hallway. He ignored the yelling that he heard from inside the main room, ignored that some of it was directed at him, and what wasn't was about him still. He still had that _damned_ fiery headache, but mercifully this helped his brain shut down. Without thinking anymore he found himself a backpack, stuffed it with papers, a laptop, and other various items that he hardly remembered putting in there. To avoid another confrontation with Soichiro, he continued up the stairs until he was on the roof outside.

It wasn't raining any longer, but he could still hear the faint sound of the bells. For a moment he lingered there under the sky. It was a quiet, but it was there. It had to be there, ringing under the ticking of the clock. That was the direction that he would go. He slung the backpack on his back and climbed down the long, emergency fire escape stairs that wound along the outside of the building.

* * *

_When you die, you won't see heaven or hell._

This is what was again ringing through Light's head as he desperately ran down the street to Shinjuku subway station. It was agonizingly infuriating that a stupid, impulsive decision made by his mortal enemy had lead to a stupid, impulsive decision of his own. It was enraging that in these most dangerous, ludicrous circumstances he would have to act audaciously, no, downright recklessly because he was not ready to die yet. And that was the only ending he could see when he had worked out what L's absence meant.

So the truth was that neither of them was moving stupidly even if it was still impulsive. In a way it was brilliantly planned out for L, and he hadn't even made an offensive move yet. Light was filled with a panic when he tried to work out what it meant, and what the call from Interpol that they received not long after L's departure meant when they said that they were going to test the 'thirteen days' as were L's instructions, and-

_Fucking_ hell! Where the _fuck_ was he supposed to go now?

Was he trying to find L? Or was he running away? The anger that surged within him was reminiscent of the time that L had first introduced himself to L. Oh, how he remembered that goddamn day when they have given the freshmen address at the university together, how he remembered those vacant black eyes on his back, just waiting to see his reactions. How he despised him. Despised him for everything. For humiliating him, imprisoning him, handcuffing him, making him believe that his father was going to shoot him, always watching and waiting for him to mess up, and now he dared to leave...

Light clutched the strap of his navy gym bag, filled with what was a hopeful match of anything L had brought. He stood in a ferocious storm of moving people as they went to and from every subway train. The people were moving, so Light was moving too, because he didn't know what else to do. He had told the task force that he would find L, and approach him as a friend instead of as a co-worker, and convince him to return to the Kira case because of course only L could capture Kira, and oh God what if Interpol figured him out, too? How much did L tell them about the Death Note and its primary suspects? Where was L going now? How long before Light sat handcuffed on death row?

"Ryuuzaki!" he shouted out, hoping beyond hope that the detective just-so-happened to be within the perhaps seven foot circle around him, before the sound drowned out into the competition of the crowd.

Of course, he hadn't been completely unprepared. In the rush of trepidation and frenzy, Light found it in his mind to project logical thoughts. He had immediately contacted Aiber the con-artist, a man who had assisted L and the investigation force in the capture of Higuchi, the third Kira (ultimately a failed effort, because Light had written down the corporate demon's name immediately after). Aiber had willingly enough traced a number of L's credit cards (and there were a lot of them) and connected the results Shinjuku station. L had used the card to buy a ticket.

L had to die. Somehow, L had to die. Because if he did not die, then Light was sure that _he_ would die, and oh, oh god how he did not want to die. This whole thing was stupid, impulsive, uncalculated, unrefined, and the only way to keep track of-

"Ryuuzaki!" Light yelled desperately in the area where Aiber had assured him that the detective had bought, or at least ordered online, a ticket. Of course that was awhile ago now, and L might surely be long gone. No, that was impossible. The train that L had purchased a ticket for, Aiber assured him, didn't leave for another six minutes. Would L do this to throw him off? If L was worried that Light might indeed follow him, because he was going off to investigate somewhere more private than he certainly would. Was the whole thing a false trail?

L had taught Light one very valuable thing in the days they had spent together: keep your enemies close to you, if necessary use a chain. If you've lost sight of your enemies then inevitably you've lost your life. Was this the end?

"Ryuuzaki!" Light shouted fruitlessly at the top of his lungs across an area filled with noisy human life. Shinjuku station was a labyrinth in its own right, and Light felt like has trying to find the Minotaur. He jogged down stairs where another platform was waiting for its train to arrive. "Ryuuzaki!" he tried again, reaching the bottom of the stairs. He turned the corner to make a left, and-

_Crash_. An unexpected obstacle stood in the way of his destination, and it was a human being. Light lost his balance and tripped over his own feet, and he cursed himself as he knew he was about to fall - but the fall never came. The person, who must have braced himself for such a force because he didn't stumble at all, held him up by one of his arms. Light looked upward to mumble an apology and a thank-you when he saw who it was who had caught him.

Wide dark rimmed eyes enclosed ebony pupils, and pale eyelids flickered in a confused blink. L stared at him, still holding onto his arm as if there was still a chance of his falling. Or perhaps, Light thought with a surge of paranoia, L was apprehending him now, and the police agents from all over the world were hiding, and he would be caught, and-

"You look lost, Light-kun," L murmured, letting go of Light's arm and concealing his hands in his jean pockets.

"No, I was looking for you." Stomping down his anxious thoughts, he forced himself to catch his breath and say his piece. "I'm here as your friend, Ryuuzaki, and I just wanted to talk-"

"My train is leaving." The detective, or maybe he was not a detective right then because Light just didn't understand, turned toward the platform. Without a second glance, he had boarded the subway and was disappearing within the thick crowd. It no longer mattered that he stuck out like a sore thumb with his bad posture and clueless expression, there were people everywhere, and he was going somewhere and he must have had a plan to defeat Light and the Death Note wasn't going to work...

Desperately, Light recovered his composure and ran after. He found L sitting on a booth, hugging his upright knees with slim arms. Adverted eyes that did not acknowledge his would-be once and perhaps still would be murderer's presence. The subway car was full of all of those wretched people, but Light shoved passed them and seated himself directly across from his nemesis.

No words passed through the barrier of closed lips from either boy.

Their eyes flickered toward everything except the opposition sitting across from them. They fastidiously studied the walls, the floors, the strangers and perhaps nothing at all, too. The subway rumbled, and then they were off, in a clouded, overwhelming ocean of silence. Light had no idea what he was getting into, but it was reassuring that at least L was here and not somewhere else.

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

1. Interpol (ICPO) is a real organization, and I chose to use it because if you remember, in episode 2 they have a meeting concerning the heart attacks of criminals. And though it is a real organization I am portraying it in a way that suits my imagination - aka, not so realistically.

2. It took me longer than I anticipated, but Light and L are finally together. Whew.

3. The Minotaur was a half bull, half man beast that was trapped in a labyrinth in Greek mythology.

Thank you. :-) I'm really appreciative of everyone for all the hits and reviews I'm receiving. It inspires to actually not abandon this fic. -Serria


	4. Adversary's Waltz

**DESIDERATUM: Chapter 4**

Disclaimer: I do not have ownership of the Death Note.

**ADVERSARY'S WALTZ**

* * *

It had been thirty-two minutes since the departure of the subway, and L had hardly moved. Light knew it was thirty-two minutes because he periodically checked the expensive bronze watch that encircled his wrist - currently his most precious possession. Not just because it had sentimental value for him, being as it was a gift from his father, but after he pressed and pulled a few switches and knobs a compartment would open. In that compartment was a piece of the Death Note. He couldn't exactly bring the real Death Note with him, he had to entrust that a long with the holy crusade to Misa's care. Somehow he hoped that if L did indeed have a real name that Rem hadn't seen like he seemed to believe, then he would write his name on that slip of paper.

Thirty-four minutes. Light risked a tentative glance at L, who was biting his thumbnail and looking at the floor. Was this part of the test? Was L waiting for some kind of reaction? Had he assumed that if he left, Light would follow and therefore, this whole ordeal was already going in accordance to _his_ plan? Shinjuku station would be an appropriate place for L to go in that case. It was here, though not in this particular subway train, that he had killed Ray Penbar. That death was Light's point of no return. He knew at that point that he could not give up on his ideal because he had sacrificed innocent people for it, and if he ever gave up their deaths would be in vain. L's death would be in vain.

Not that L was an innocent, of course. He didn't mean that. He just meant, L wasn't exactly a criminal. No, that was a lie, too, L had on more than one occasion in just the times that Light had personally witnessed cheated the system. Working with criminals such as Aiber and Wedy, setting up illegal surveillance in oblivious people's houses, hacking and cracking, torturing prisoners and even going so far as to set up a mock execution, no way was L an innocent. L had never killed anyone - in a manner of speaking. If L had never killed anyone, then neither had Light, that was only fair. L was willing to sacrifice death row inmates for his righteous cause, well, that's all Light was doing, too. And neither of them had ever used a knife or a gun (that was, Light hadn't, he wouldn't put anything passed L.)

Wait, he wasn't comparing himself to L, was he? For God's sake...

At thirty-eight minutes, the train rumbled to a halt, and L stood up. Again, he didn't offer so much as a hasty glance toward his companion. Light gritted his teeth and also stood up, wrapping sweaty fingers around the strap of his bag. If this was part of L's master plan, then theoretically he wouldn't let him get lost in the crowd, but then again there was a good chance that the plan was more complicated than that. So Light did what he had told the task force that he was planning on doing - he shoved by people and trailed the lanky youth like a dog.

L walked at an unusually quick pace through the labyrinth of a station. Up a staircase, across a hall, through an open area, then up another stair case. If Light didn't know better he would have wondered if L actually knew where the hell he was going. To an outsider, that slouched, messy, Caucasian-appearing young man must have looked completely clueless, perhaps a tourist. He even had a manner of walking that looked as though he were daydreaming all of the time; a contrast to Light's definite, well-paced steps. But the brunette knew better - L was intelligent enough to know Japan better than the Japanese, and there was no beating around that fact.

When finally they exited through glass, ground-level doors of Shinjuku station, the sun was setting. Light glanced around, gathering his surroundings. This wasn't an area that he usually frequented. L kept on walking, still taking no notice of Light, but he clearly knew that he was being followed. Just the little movements that he made expressed this. Maybe it wasn't 'clearly', but for someone who knew him well...

Not that he knew L well.

They were walking through a park now. The trees and grass might have been green, but the sunset distorted the colors to reds and yellows. It was a nice park, Light supposed, and large enough to have distance away from busy streets, but it was pretty empty of human life. Of course, it was a weekday night, it wasn't expected to be busy. Too bad though. It was a nice place. The birds at least were scattered around the grass and trees, lounging lazily.

"Light-kun." L broke the vow of silence. He still faced the horizon with his back toward the one he was speaking to, but he didn't need to be the world's greatest detective to know that he was being heard. "Why are you here, too?"

L knew, and Light knew that he knew, and L knew that Light knew that he knew. But they were playing a part, and Light didn't want to be the first one to compromise that. "I wanted to do my best to convince you to come back to the headquarters, and rejoin the Kira case. I understand how terrible you must be feeling right now, but don't you think that our personal feelings come second when it comes to bringing justice to the world?"

"Yes, Light-kun. That is what I think, too." L was slipping off his green backpack, and without turning around he brought it in front of him. He was visibly enough fumbling with the zippers of the thing, though Light couldn't see what exactly he was trying to get at. "Is that truly why you're here?"

"That's right," he answered, unperturbed. "Only you can catch Kira, after all."

L's head turned over his shoulder. His dark eyes loomed like tangible shadows as they regarded the murder suspect. He raised a hand, and tossed a black object in Light's direction that he must have retrieved from his bag. "Catch!"

Surprised, Light caught whatever it was that flew into his hands. A chilly metal object weighed against his fingers, and when he lowered his sight to it, he gasped out loud. His mouth opened and he stared at L with absolute sincere shock. "A _gun_? Ryuuzaki, you can't have this in Japan unless you're a cop!"

"Hmm, I don't have it, you do." A finger trailed upwards to his curved lips and into his mouth as he watched Light with an infuriating amusement.

The object felt as though it was burning in Light's hands, but he did not let go. Instead he was clutching it tightly, more out of fear that it might somehow go off and let out a gunshot noise and draw attention than anything. But his mind was again reduced to paranoia, and he deemed it appropriate to voice his concerns. "What are you thinking, Ryuuzaki?! Is this is what it was all about, getting this weapon in my hands and tainting it with my fingerprints? Have you seriously gone to the point where you're so bitter because you have no proof that I'm Kira, when you want me to be Kira so badly, that you'd rather frame me into it?!"

"You talk so much. That's why I'm certain." The smile ran away from L's face after that, and now he was standing up straight. When he wasn't slouching, he was tall, at least as tall as Light. He was regarding the younger boy coolly, with those unreadable charcoal orbs. "Why don't you kill me, Kira?"

"Stop saying useless things!" Light couldn't help but crane his head in all directions and dart his eyes around, looking for anyone that might see the offensive object. This was truly making him uncomfortable, and L was making no move to take his gun back.

"Kill me, Kira!" L only raised his voice at that. His eyelids narrowed his wide eyes, and his upper lip slightly curled dauntingly. "What are you waiting for? Don't you even know how to work that thing? I am daring you to _kill me_!"

Light froze when the parallel dawned on him. It was just like their first confrontation through the television, where L had deduced that Kira needed a name and a face to kill. Light knew how to work the gun. His father kept one with him, as he was a cop. He knew that one pulled the trigger and then the bullet comes out at a startling speed and the crack of gunfire. He knew that if the tiny, cylindrical piece of metal called a bullet rocketed through the air, it could pierce L's skull, it could stab through his genius brain, it could shut him down. And his fingers were tightening around the gun even more now.

"Come on, Kira," L taunted, and now his black eyes were wild with dancing shadows. "Don't you know who I am? I am _L_!"

His heart rate was accelerating, and his head was pounding. _This might have been exactly the opportunity that you were looking for_. The barrel of the handgun was lifting. If L died, if only L would die, then Light could save the world. Just a quick clench of his grip, and he could sleep without nightmares. He would have nothing left to be afraid of. Just pulling the trigger...

No.

The gun landed on the grass after it fell. _Obviously, I can't kill you in such a public place, Ryuuzaki. _Light crossed his arms to hide the fact that his hands had been trembling and he narrowed his eyes. "I don't want to be seen with such a weapon. It's illegal. Or maybe I should be hoping that the police come to arrest us, so they'll take you back to the Kira Investigation unit where you belong."

L's face was expressionless for a moment, and then his lips twitched into a wry smile. He bit on his forefinger as he spoke. "So I'm still right. There are some ways that Kira can't kill."

Light sighed. "Won't you ever give it up?"

"And something else that I've concluded for sure..." It was as if L's wide, scrutinizing eyes were laughing scornfully at him. "Kira is nothing but a child. He wouldn't have followed me if he wasn't afraid, and he didn't have the guts to fire a gun. I don't think he can stomach the real world, outside the comfort of his straight-A's and regulated classrooms, where he can write the names in that notebook without bother. And he won't leave that room until the world makes sufficient sense, and he's killed everyone he doesn't comprehend."

He hoped like hell that he wasn't flushing, but that made him furious. He clenched his fists so hard that he felt nails digging into the skin of his palms. _L is just trying to get a rise out of you. He still has no proof, it's just a test._ He exhaled sharply, and said with patience, "You're wrong, on a few accounts. You aren't considering the possibility that I'm here because I'm your friend, and of course I wouldn't shoot you. The other thing that you're wrong about is that you called yourself 'L'. Even if that's what we all think of you as, that can't be you, or else why are _you_ here? Wasn't that the point of you leaving, to find your real name?"

"Aha," L murmured in his naturally low voice again. "Touché." He crouched down and picked up the handgun with his thumb and forefinger, lifting it experimentally. "You were wrong, too, Light-kun. It wasn't loaded."

"Why would I care if it was loaded or not?" Light challenged, choking down a gasp of relief that he hadn't risked firing it after all.

"In that case, it _was_ loaded." L tossed the gun loosely back into his bag, grinning offensively at Light and leaving him to wonder the truth. He stood up again after zipping the bag closed. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"That you're insane, unruly, and should probably be on medication?" Light muttered with sarcasm.

"No, but the places I go, and the things that I do - if you follow me, I won't stop you because a part of me will never be able to cease testing you and hoping that I find the right evidence. And that's appropriate because _you_ will never cease to think that I'm testing you. You've got to decide now, because nothing you say will make me go back to the Kira Investigation headquarters until I have what I want, and that renders your mission useless." L paused there, now looking very serious. "But if you are Kira, I suspect that you would follow me because you know that you can't trust me out of your eyesight. You would try to find some way to kill me, and cover it up so that no one would know."

"Ryuuzaki, you've got it wrong, you know that I can't be Kira! The rule in the notebook about thirteen days, don't you remember?"

Those words were ignored. "On the other hand, Light-kun has a child's mind, and in the end I don't think that he has the willpower to kill me with his hands. It's just a theory, but I believe it. And strangely enough, I am very fond of him, and I enjoy his company. So if you're going to come with me, I don't mind."

Light was left in a stupor as he stared at L, knowing that every second that ticked on his watch was a second more evidence that he was Kira. But he was left in a standstill - so if he went with L, then he was Kira, but L invited him along anyway? It was too obvious to be a trap. If L was secretly on his way to Interpol or some other large-scale police organization, if he hand delivered Kira, that would only be too perfect for him. But he wouldn't want to show his face even to them, so he couldn't introduce himself as L, and if he wasn't L they would never believe him. Though the fact that it was so obvious might be because L wanted him to disbelieve him, and maybe there was a counter-trap. Of _course_ there was a counter-trap. If Light went back to the headquarters, he had to work with the President of Interpol in testing the thirteen day rule, and once it was proved to be a failure, even the police would turn suspicious eyes on him. Unless he could somehow find out the names of the criminals to write their names on the piece of Death Note in his watch... in which case, maybe it would be better to somehow end up at an Interpol building, or somewhere where he could hack their security and hopefully find out a name?

"I never told them the name of my primary suspect," L commented casually. "Interpol shouldn't know about you."

"Why are you telling me that?" Light asked carelessly. Of course, both tones were completely false.

"Mm, I don't know." He was biting at his thumb now, smiling at his own lie.

_To even the scales_, Light concluded. To make him more inclined to stay back at the headquarters where he might not be suspected directly after the test. But no, Light realized with fascinated horror. Now if he chose to stay behind, after he heard that he might not be suspected, that would be L's proof that he was indeed Kira. The table was completely turned.

"Either way, I don't care, you know." L shrugged. "But I'm going now. I have a ten o'clock flight out of the Tokyo airport, and I want to get there early. I've found that I'm... really, really tired, so I was thinking I'd rest in the lobby before boarding time."

"Ten o'clock! Tonight?" Light exclaimed. He checked his watch: it was 7:23. He looked up again at L, and took a breath when he said, "I was prepared to go with you ever since I packed my bag. It's true that I'm reluctant to work on the Kira case without you, because I'm the biggest suspect of being Kira that we have and I feel as though it would be unfair. It's also true that I'm not Kira, and I want to find him more than anyone because of the ways he's personally affected me by making a suspect in the first place. And I want your help to find Kira, because you're the only one with the intelligence and the connections to do it. But I can't make you do anything, and if I was right and you really are on this journey to find your name, then I want to help you so that you can come back to the investigation with the 'heroic intentions' that you needed. I want you to find them so that you can capture Kira, and also because you're my friend and I think you deserve it."

They stared at each other with steel eyes that smirked at the guise that they were friends. It was just a damned pretense. Light couldn't afford to let the facade get the better of his emotions. He knew that L would never allow that, either.

"Well, then." L jammed his hands in his pockets after putting on that ragged backpack again. He turned toward the street and began to walk. "We'd better get you a passport and some identification then. Come on, it'll only take me a few minutes."

And Light didn't know quite what to make of that.

* * *

Ryuk was rather disappointed when Misa tearfully informed him that Light was leaving Tokyo, and wouldn't have time to stop by. It was the only way to explain that pissed off feeling that he felt. The human world was lame and boring, but_ that _was a kid who knew how to brighten a Shinigami's day. He was so damned psychotic, it gave Ryuk chills. Wouldn't it be fun if he could play the Kira game down in the Shinigami world! It was a helluva lot more exciting than gambling, and he bet that it was even _more_ exciting if you actually had to worry about dying. 

Though, Ryuk was hardly the dying type.

"What can Misa do?" The girl howled, covered her face in her hands which was leaking with wet mascara and eyeliner. Ryuk thought it looked kind of cool running down her face, but Misa had assured him that it was entirely unintentional. Unfortunately he hadn't seen many humans try that look. What a pity! They had no sense of style. "Light said that he is running from Interpol! But he said just to kill criminals like normal, and he'll call, but he hasn't called and his cell phone is off! Oh, Ryuk!"

"Oh, Misa," Ryuk responded with a toothy grin.

"He didn't even kiss his girlfriend good-bye!" she wailed, looking up with red eyes. Were they red from all the bawling, or was it the fact that she had traded half her life-span for the all-seeing Shinigami eyes? "Do you think there's another girl that he loves?"

"I dunno," the Shinigami shrugged. "Though I don't think he really wants to love anyone right now, 'cause that would just get in the way of his goal. Hey, here's an idea, sunshine. Why don't you do something _really_ exciting? You're pretty damned boring, so why not kill a few presidents and prime ministers, eh? Show me something good!"

"Ryuk-sama!" The girl was glaring, her hands now on her hips. "That is _not_ what Light wants!"

"Never said it was, it's what _I_ want. Either that or go get me an apple."

Misa sniffed, then obediently stood up and stumbled into the kitchen of the apartment. Ryuk decided he liked this - it reminded him of the old days, when humans were always sacrificing shit for him. It got boring after awhile, but Light had been the cheery vacation from that number. But Misa was moving significantly more slowly than those crazy ass worshipers had. She had arrived at the wicker apple basket, but just gave the death god a sideways glance. "Don't you like Light, Ryuk?"

"Sure."

"Then why won't you kill L for him?"

Ryuk gurgled a laugh. "Obviously, because I would die, too. Don't confuse me with Rem, Misa. I'm not stupid. I'd much rather let Light play out his life how he was meant to, right to the bloody, bitter end. Honestly it's more exciting that way."

Misa glowered, holding an apple under her black polished fingers. Then she put on a devilish expression. "What if I don't give you any apples? I won't give you one single apple until you've killed L!"

Ryuk stared at her with his bulging eyes, then he scoffed. "I am in no way disinclined to write _your_ name into my Death Note, Misa Amane."

At that, Misa gave a little squeal, and then surrendered the apple. She sank down into the couch in another fit of wailing, an occasional comprehensible word like 'Light' or 'girlfriend' making it's way out of her twisted red lips. Ryuk was content for the moment though. It was those fantastic, simple things in life that really made him smile. Apples were definitely one of them.

* * *

"Ray Misora?" Light asked incredulously, holding up his brand new identification. The two boys sat across from each other in the airport boarding gate, where hundreds of gray chairs were lined up in neat rows. Most of these chairs were occupied, for the Tokyo airport was swarming with life and in-and-out passengers, but Light and L had found a place fairly isolated from others by the observation deck, so that their conversations could casually be ignored. 

He hadn't had time previously to bring it up, as they had been going through security and passport control. _Ray Misora. That_ was going too far. Of course, an innocent Light Yagami would not have caught the hidden barb, but L had quite clearly put together the names of 'Ray Penbar' and 'Naomi Misora', two FBI agents that Kira had silenced. The fact that L had chosen this name while creating a fake ID and passport for Light was proof of his earlier statement that he would never stop testing the boy. Well, fuck him, Light thought to himself venomously. He wouldn't get any reaction out of _this _suspect.

Though it was impressive that in less than two hours, L had created a perfect passport using just his laptop computer, a printer, and the materials in his backpack. Granted, L had at least ten passports and fake IDs concealed in his bag of mysteries, and he had just changed the writing and picture on them to suit Light Yagami (or rather, 'Ray Misora'), but Light admitted that they were pretty flawless.

"Correct," L said, tapping his fingers on his upright knees as he sat. The tapping was rather elaborate, and it reminded Light of playing piano. "It's a more English sounding name, even if it has obvious Japanese roots. You're American now, by the way."

"What?" Light asked in mild surprise, studying the identification again.

"Don't you speak English?" It was almost a sneer, masked in polite enough words.

"Yes, I do. I mean, I had been taking it since early gradeschool, and I think I'm pretty fluent." Yeah, that humility was bullshit. Light was at the top of his class and could easily translate anything thrown at him, but that was nothing new. "I just don't understand why it's relevant."

L didn't even look at him, he just continued to tap his make-believe song. "Mm, Light-kun, it might not matter. But it also might, so I made this decision."

Light shrugged, and glanced at his watch. Boarding time would probably begin in about five minutes... Then he realized that the damned detective was smiling smugly to himself. What would that be about? The brunette gritted his teeth and ran through a mental list of facts, theories and possibilities. Had he made a mistake? Maybe he had underacted? "You know, Ryuuzaki, I'm not entirely comfortable with using a false identification," he finally declared after careful consideration.

"Is that so?"

"It feels awfully dishonest. I am Light Yagami, I don't want to be anyone else. It's my name, it's who I am." Light hadn't originally meant to add the last sentence, but it had become an irresistible counter to L's previous insult with 'Ray Misora'. _You know, my name. The thing that you don't have, Ryuuzaki. _"I don't have anything to hide."

"Fair enough." L seemed completely unfazed. "Go get your real passport then, and we can use that."

..._Oh_. Light didn't have a passport. He had never applied for one, because he had never been out of Japan. "Well, we could have used my real name, anyway, when we made the fake one."

Now L was looking at _him_ incredulously. "What's the _point_ in making an illegal passport if you're going to tell the truth?"

Well, it wasn't like Light cared anyhow. No, he _did_ care, and he, like the detective, knew perfectly well why it was better for Light to have a false identity. Light personally did not want to get traced by Interpol if such a desperate situation arose where the thirteen days theory was experimented upon and one of the police leaked his name. L wouldn't want to be found out either because he so very much enjoyed hiding his face from the government. It served both of their purposes, and that was fine for now. It might even be easier to kill L if no one could prove that Light Yagami ever left Japan.

_Ding, ding!_ A computerized bell rang over the speakers, cutting through the noises of the crowd. "Attention, please. Boarding for flight SU576 is now open. Repeat, boarding for flight SU576 for Moscow is now open."

"That's us." Light stood up and stretched, grabbing his backpack. Yes, they were going to Moscow, Russia. L hadn't told him where they had been heading when they arrived at the front desk of the airport's lobby. He, like a cat stretching lazily, had earlier handed one ticket to Light with eyes that just dared him to ask _why_. Light had not, but wondered if perhaps Russia was where L was from after all. Light glanced over at L, to find that the detective was resting his chin on his knees, and his eyelids were closed. "Ryuuzaki? You aren't asleep, are you?"

"Nhn," came the unintelligible sound as L opened a single, annoyed charcoal eye. He tossed his head slightly before stepping off of the chair. Then in response to Light's accusation, he muttered under his breath, "No, I was certainly not sleeping."

"Okay, what did you call _that_ then? Temporary paralysis?" Light challenged half-heartedly as they walked through the lobby to where the line to board was already quite formidable. There were three attendants taking tickets at a consistently well-paced rate, so he calculated that it wouldn't take as long as the length of the line might suggest.

"Get out your ticket, Ray. And if they ask anything, answer in English."

It wasn't that Light had ever ceased to be nervous from the moment that Rem had failed to kill L. This had multiplied when L had left the investigation. But now, as he followed L down the aisle of the large, packed with passengers plane, he felt a new anxiety fill his stomach like heavy stones. When they reached their row - which was early enough, because L had reserved them first class tickets somehow so their seats were at the front of the plane - the raven-haired youth immediately shoved forward to curl himself next to the window. With wobbly knees, Light sat down next to him. _We haven't sat this close since we were handcuffed together_, Light recalled without much humor.

L was shifting uncomfortably in his airplane seat. He tinkered with the recliner, and he twisted his body. Light noticed this out of the corner of his eye, and then let out an exasperated sigh when he realized the problem - L was trying to sit using a seat belt, as the flight attendants required until the plane was stabilized in mid-air. This meant no crouching, but rather sitting on one's ass.

Light still had that sinking feeling in his gut, and he bit his lip and busied himself with turning off his cell phone and reading stupid brochures about the different types of planes. The brochures were in a little pouch on the back of the seat in front of him, along with a complimentary barf-bag. Wonderful. And now that he had thought about a barf-bag, he was thinking about throwing up, and damn, why were there so many people on this plane?

"Light-kun?" L asked as the plane began to rumble.

"Hm?" He glanced over at the other boy, who was clearly in a state of discomfort. Maybe he had never been on an airplane before either... no, had he really just thought that? This messy, lanky youth was _L_, as well as the other two detectives, Erald Coil and Denuve. The question was, where hadn't such a man flown?

"Uh..." His wide eyes looked a little bloodshot, which was a contrast from his pale-as-death face. "Did you pack a blanket?"

"Huh? Oh, so you really are tired!" Light smirked, trying to distract himself from the fact that the vehicle was moving now.

"No, it's not that..." L looked away almost apologetically out the window at the run-way, where the plane was starting to move. "It's just, it's kind of cold in here, don't you think?"

Light didn't think it was cold at all - in fact, to him, it all felt awfully hot. Too hot for comfort. Claustrophobic, surrounded by people on this plane that was beginning to move. But to take his mind off of that, he reached into his bag under his feet. He didn't have a blanket, but he had packed along a white sweatshirt. It was a little old and worn, with a small whole in the sleeve, but it had served its purpose faithfully throughout the years and it was comfortable. He tossed the garment at L with indifference. "Will this work?"

"Thank you, Light-kun." L picked up the sweatshirt - he really must have been cold, because he was shivering. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat again, and then instead of putting on the clothing item he laid it over him as though it were a blanket after all. The peculiar action made Light study L further, who was now somewhat huddled against the wall of the plane, staring without looking at the seat in front of him. He really did look pale. "I don't suppose you have aspirin, either?"

The first thing that Light wanted to say was a scoffing, 'you would take aspirin from a Kira suspect?' but that felt a little inappropriate (though he would have to be open-minded about poison in the future). So instead he said, "I'm sorry, I don't. They probably would have confiscated it in the bag check even if I did."

"Oh. That's okay, it wasn't precisely necessary anyhow."

"Hey..." Light hesitated, letting out a sigh, and then he very assertively leaned forward. He lifted an arm toward L's head and pressed his wrist against his forehead. The detective jerked away in sudden confusion, but Light felt the damage - the forehead was burning. "I think you have a fever, Ryuuzaki. Probably from that evening when you decided to apply your genius so eloquently, and went outside in the rain!"

L didn't answer that, he just leaned his head against the window, using his own arm for a make-shift pillow. _The night Watari died. _The figure shivered again.

Light turned back to facing forward. The plane was roaring as its wheels slid off the road. The air's resistance made it feel like they were going in slow motion, and it was uncomfortable. His heart rate accelerated, and he closed his eyes to pretend that he was somewhere else.

"Light-kun is tired, too," L commented. "I'd offer you a share of my blanket, only you didn't give me one."

"I'm not tired or cold," he answered irritably. "And keep the damn sweatshirt, you're probably contagious and have your germs all over it by now."

"I see. You're just afraid of riding in an airplane."

"That's not true, either," he snapped. It wasn't true, maybe. The truth stopped mattering between he and L a long time ago. It was the fabrications that always held the weight. Composing himself, he spoke delicately. "I've just never been on one. It's a new experience for me."

L's gaze was on him like a hot iron and he smirked as if Light had never done him a favor by lending him clothes. His vacant expression was twisted by his wide eyes which were offensive. "Poor Light-kun."

Light ignored him, and stared ahead. This was not what he needed. God, he didn't even know what he needed. All he knew was that he was on a plane going to Russia with a ticking time bomb to his own downfall. And the plane was going into the air, and he felt sick, wow he would punch himself in embarrassment later if he was the one using the barf bag and not the feverish detective...

The plane was rocketing through the clouds. Of course it was safe, Light knew. He knew the chances of an air-related accident were very slim. A little bit of turbulence was normal for a plane ride. But he had never felt so powerless without his feet standing on the ground. The truth was, on this plane he was no longer in control. His life was in someone else's hands. He hated that.

He found himself clutching onto the arm rests on either side of his seat. L looked as though sleep had finally claimed him after all, and that was more than fine. Light wished that he was the least bit tired right then, but he wasn't. His heart was pounding and he tapped his foot vigorously to eliminate nervous energy. A mantra might help. _L must die, L must die, L must die..._

Something cold and clammy wrapped around his right hand, on top of the arm rest. Startled, Light saw that it was L, who appeared to still be asleep, but was tossing and turning uncomfortably. On contact with the younger boy's hand, L grabbed it and pulled his arm forward as though it were a second blanket. But the way he clutched that hand, it was almost like a child's doll.

Awkwardly, Light tried to slip his arm out of L's hold, but the lanky youth had a grip of iron, even in his sleep. _Keep your enemies close..._ Well, L was always aggressive on the rare occasions that he slept, as Light remembered. During that long period Light had been L's prisoner by six-foot-long handcuff, they had shared a bed. More than once Light had woken up without the blanket, or with a foot in his face, or even on the floor.

It was annoying that he was thinking about his night-time experiences with L as the sleeping detective latched onto his hand. But, Light had to admit, it was a hell of a lot better than thinking about how frightened he was of being on this plane.

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

**Author's Notes**

1. Writing might be a little shakey and bare - if it is, I'm sorry. I proof read it and stuff, but this week has been busy with graduation and whatnot. (whatnot being... parties!!!)

2. The Ryuk scene isn't exactly necessary to the plot, but it's more included at this point for symbolic purposes as well as Ryuk's potential purpose later in the story.

3. To clarify, Misa currently has a Death Note and the task force has two (Higuchi's and Rem's).

4. I have so many leftover bagels from my party. They're delicious, does anyone want one? Ha, ha.

Thanks for reading, everyone. :-) Coming up, shounen-ai in Russia! (and it's really actually coming up this time) -Serria


	5. Cohort's Tango

**DESIDERATUM: Chapter 5**

Disclaimer: Still don't own it. Not much has changed in these passed couple of days.

**COHORT'S TANGO**_  
_

* * *

_The rain was heaving from the sky with its own forceful determination. It was cold, but that wasn't the thing that L noticed. The balcony of the sky-scraping building was already one of the highest things in Tokyo's sky, but the sound of the bells came from even higher. He craned his neck upward, hardly feeling the water as it slid down his pale forehead, trying to deduce what the sound meant._

_And then there was Light Yagami, all drenched in the rain himself because L had beckoned him to come out. He was clearly agitated and had something very haunting on his mind. L concluded this because Light had gone out of his way to find L. Neither admitted it, but they had adjusted to each other's presence so that it had become almost habitual. It had become... no, not calming, but perhaps reassuring to stand by the other, maybe the only other one in the world with such a similar aura._

_But there wasn't anything reassuring now, really. Actually, it felt confusing as they stared at each other. Light's face was contorted into forced indifference when he was clearly torn, and L felt as though he had lost control of his own logical thoughts. _

_"You know, you're just like me," L said. He didn't usually say things without a purpose, but the words were in his lungs and he wanted to exhale them. "You've never told the truth in your life."_

_Light looked surprised, and his eyes were frustrated because he simply refused to believe he was any other thing. "It's true that I've lied in my life, there isn't a human who hasn't. But I would never lie to the people that I care about..."_

_And that was also a lie. L thought, people like us lie _especially_ to those that we care about. And because you and I both really do care about the whole world - and I know we do because we wouldn't work as the hand of justice for the salvation of humanity if we did not - there isn't any room for truth at all._

_What if one day there _was_ room for truth...? What would we say?_

"Attention, please! We have now arrived at Moscow, Russia. The local time is now 6:28 AM. We hope you have enjoyed riding on Aeroflot Russian Airlines..."

L heard the voice over the intercom of the Boeing 763 airplane. It was a muddled sound and he rather wished it would shut the hell up and let him sleep. It was loud and irritating, and damn it, did his head ever hurt. Now that he was at least somewhat conscious again he was all too aware of this fact. And he had been sleeping so nicely... it felt like forever since he had been so asleep. He had been dreaming about... what had he been dreaming about? Maybe he hadn't been dreaming about anything. That was probably the nicest part of that particular dormant period.

"Come on, Ryuuzaki, we have to get off the plane now," a young voice cut sharply into his ear. "Wake up."

"Mmph," L answered, which in his own mind translated to _please shut up and leave me alone. _.

"Are you listening to me?" the voice asked curtly. "It's time to _leave_. And since when do you sleep so heavily? Well, whatever, Ryuuzaki. Just let go of my arm so I can go, and how about you stay here then? I'm seriously beyond caring."

There was a tugging at the thing that must have been wrapped in his spindly fingers, and he definitely noticed this movement. That added to his list of annoyances, so he held on even more tightly to the point of digging his short, bitten fingernails into it. The reaction to this movement was a yelp from the boy next to him.

"God damn it, Ryuuzaki! Let go or I'll hit you!"

Finally, L opened his eyes very slightly. The angry image of Light Yagami, his almond brown eyes narrowed in frustration that filled the entirety of his young face greeted his new eyesight. Light's eyes were rather bloodshot and dark circles encompassed his eyes - peculiar, he must not have slept at all during the long flight. Long flight? L frowned as the memories came back to him. "Oh, yeah," he said, letting go of Light's hand which for some reason had apparently belonged to him during his slumber. _Oh, yeah. Shinigami, Death Note, Kira, Watari, Russia. Oh, yeah. _When the teenager didn't stop glaring at him, L raised his eyebrows in confusion. "What?"

"Nothing." Light immediately stood up then, snatching his gym bag from below the seat. He turned to the center aisle where people were crowding in a line to get out.

L shrugged and stood up behind his companion. And ugh, standing up was not a pleasant process. His skin felt as though it were chilly and warm at the same time, but he was definitely cold. Light had let him borrow that white sweatshirt for a blanket, and L assumed the deal was still standing so it slipped the cotton clothing over his head. The fabric was uncomfortable against his skin which did not want any contact whatsoever, but at least it kept the heat in. Also, his head hurt. Damn.

Light wormed his way into the aisle, and in order to not lose him in the river of people, L grabbed at the hem of Light's own black sweater in front of him. The younger boy must have been too annoyed to even acknowledge this movement, and L was only too happy to keep hold of it as they fought through the crowd through the plane and then the tunnel leading them back to the airport.

When they were again out in the lobby, Light spun around so quickly that L was forced to let go. "Okay, now can you act normal? Or is your conspicuous behavior intentional?"

"It doesn't matter how strangely I act," a now fully awake detective responded with a wily smile. "But perhaps you would prefer if I acted inconspicuously. That would be logical, I suppose, if you were Kira."

Light's pupils minimized slightly in his brown irises, and they darted away from L's face and to the people around them. Angrily he turned around again, and L could see that he was clenching his fists. L then counted the milliseconds to his response - the longer it took, the more likely he was to be Kira. Unfortunately the answer was speedy enough. "Look, I don't care if you say those things between us. But in an airport, with all the security, and in a different country..."

"Ah, but Light-kun has never been in an airport nor a different country, how does he know?" But L really would refrain from more accusations in this area. If Light was arrested here for suspected terrorism, even for idle questioning, his travel partner would be taken in too. L didn't want his own face on surveillance either, even if he did have false identification (a lot of them). "Anyway, do you speak Russian? If you do, let's speak that instead right now."

Of course Light didn't speak Russian, and L knew very well from studying him so long that he had never once taken such a class in school. And Light knew that L knew. L felt Light get more disconcerted by the fact that he asked - which in a way was an insult to his intelligence. "No, I do not speak it," he answered with obviously forced calm.

"Too bad. Please speak English, then." They wandered further down the lobby. "We have to go through customs, and then I'm going to take out some rubles from my accounts. Oh, rubles are this nation's currency, by the way."

"I knew _that_," Light answered hotly in Japanese. He probably would have known that even if he had not taken Advanced Macroeconomics in senior high school (a second semester class, if L remembered right - which he, of course, always did).

"Please speak in English, Ray Misora."

Light didn't answer and did not speak again as they went through security and customs. But despite his very casual, slouched appearance, L was watching him like a hawk. He was nervous. Perspicuously, that didn't mean much. Light could be nervous about being in a new country for the first time, as well as using a fake identification. Especially about using a fake identification. It was true that L had considered purposefully slopping up the job of making the card so that security would detain Light. That would have been an extremely convenient way to get the boy off his back and have him arrested all the same. Once he was arrested for use of a false name, it would be clear that he was fleeing Japan and it would eventually be revealed that he was a Kira suspect. A Kira suspect on the run _was_ Kira.

Light was lucky that L was holding off on such maneuvers until he found his heroic intentions. Damned lucky. In fact-

"Ah_... achoo_!" The sound burst out from L as he sneezed. He flushed. Now _this_ was annoying, and potentially problematic. If he really did have a fever, that was definitely an unwanted X-factor.

Light noticed it. As they were in the exiting lobby of the airport, the eighteen-year-old shifted his eyes slightly toward L. It was a predatory glance, even more convincing because it was hasty. But Light cleared his throat and said very politely (and perhaps facetiously, too), "May I inquire as to where we are going now? Or would asking why exactly I'm in the middle of Russia increase the probability of me being Kira?"

"I'm not answering any questions in Japanese," L commented lightly in English. "I'm Dimitri Svetlov and I do not speak that language."

Light visibly rolled his eyes, and then tried again, "Okay, where are we going?"

L turned to stare inquisitively at Light. He widened his eyes to express solemnity. "There's no point in speaking English if you're going to retain that obvious Japanese accent."

"Then I'm speaking in Japanese," Light snapped, clearly not liking the criticism.

The detective knew that when he was nervous or stressed out, the usually placidly collected Light became hot-headed. This would be useful in manipulating him later on if he needed to. Especially with the X-factor, he might need to really do some manipulating. After all, he wanted to get to London alive and well, but he had to do so evasively to avoid the possibility of ever being traced back to Wammy's House. He knew better than to compromise that secrecy.

"We're staying in Moscow for tonight, Ray," L finally answered as they reached the doors of the airport. "At the Baltschug Kempinski Moscow hotel. We have another plane to catch at 5:30 in the morning tomorrow."

"What?" The sound came with obvious despondency. "That early? Ugh, and I didn't sleep on the plane at all last night. It's your fault, too. I don't ... oh no, it's _snowing_."

They stepped outside of the airport where thick white flakes of snow fell gently from gray clouds. L figured that the climate would be as such, but it didn't please him either as he clutched the white sweatshirt to his chest tightly. When he felt the ice crystals land on his head, soaking through his thick hair with their cold touch, he lifted the hood. "Aa... achoo!" he sneezed again. "Light-kun, I don't suppose you packed a scarf?"

"What?" Light glared venomously. "I'm Light again? But my name is _Ray..._"

"Ah, I just figured that if you did have a scarf, you would be more likely to give it to me if I called you by that name as opposed to Ray Misora." L put on a very serious expression as he nibbled on his thumbnail. "That name seems to agitate you, after all."

"It does _not_ agitate me!" Light slipped. The excuse that he had not slept last night didn't matter, he definitely slipped as he practically yelled these words. It was sloppily done, and L knew that he had gotten to him. Though it wasn't enough to count as evidence that he murdered Ray Penbar and Naomi Misora, it was a positive thing. If L was able to get into Light's mind, he wouldn't have to fear anything unexpected. Theoretically, at least. A crimson color crept into Light's cheeks, partly from the cold air and probably also because he knew that he had stumbled his acting. "And no, I did not pack a scarf. I wasn't expecting to be following you so far up the northern hemisphere, I thought if anything we'd be wandering around Tokyo."

"Stop talking, unless it's in tolerable English, " L demanded in a murmur as a taxi cab pulled to the side of the busy street. "_Taksi!_" He lunged forward to the door and opened it before anyone else claimed it. "_'Dobroye utro!_" he greeted in Russian to the plump, bear-like man at the wheel.

"_Zdravstvujte! Kak vy pozhivaete_?" The Russian asked cordially.

"_Horosho spasibo_." L was smiling very amiably as he sat down comfortably in the back seat of the taxi, and a clearly glowering Light followed suit. "_Otvezite menya v gostinicu. Votadres..._" he uttered his destination to the cab driver. The man nodded and started the taxi toward the hotel.

Light scowled out the window. Like a child, he was very pointedly not looking at L in his own passive-aggressive revenge for speaking in a language that he couldn't understand.

"Don't be angry, Ray," L said very sweetly in English for the sole purpose of getting a rise out of the youth. "I'll teach you how to speak Russian when we get back to the hotel, so you don't feel so left out."

"_Poshjol ty_," Light muttered under his breath, then went back to ignoring him.

L was surprised. He had underestimated Light Yagami. No, when he thought about it, it wasn't so surprising at all that the boy at least knew Russian curse words. The pronunciation was pretty awful, though... He chose not to tell Light that.

* * *

L was exhausted by the time they had checked into their hotel room. He opened the door, dropped his bag on the floor, and fell onto a bed. It wasn't until after he was laying down that he bothered to take in his surroundings. He had certainly been in fancier hotels, but this one was tolerable enough. He buried himself under blankets. 

"Good, there are two beds," Light murmured as he claimed the second.

"Good?" L inquired, wriggling under the sheets to find a comfortable position with his aching body. "You said earlier that I kept you awake on the plane. But you never had trouble sleeping when we were handcuffed."

"It's different," Light answered hastily. Even though he had been the one whining earlier about being tired, he was actually bothering to take off his dark sweater and khaki pants. "And the only reason that I didn't have trouble sleeping before was because you made us work such damned late hours. I stopped caring that you always took the blankets. And you're sick now, probably contagious, I don't really want to be near you."

L didn't want him nearby either, because he knew perfectly well that Light was here to pounce on any chance to kill him. But right now he was tired, so very tired, and he lacked the heroic intentions to give a damn. "Sweet dreams, Light-kun."

"Good-night," Light answered without sincerity.

"But Light-kun," L drawled, already halfway asleep and was hardly aware of what left his mouth. "It's seven in the morning, that doesn't constitute as 'night'..."

Apparently Light didn't even want to honor that with a proper response, because the boy turned his back to L and stubbornly closed his eyes.

* * *

L did hear that Light eventually got up, but he simply could not open his eyes to check the clock that sat on the nightstand between their beds. He had only gained enough consciousness to realize that he was really cold, and even under the blankets he was shivering as though he were out in the snow. He huddled his body into a ball to feed off of his own body heat, and feebly didn't pay much attention to the other boy as he quietly slipped into the bathroom and took a shower. 

Sometimes he cursed his keen detective's senses, because now that he was somewhat awake all he heard was the sounds that Light was making. His footsteps, the squeaking of water fossett, the hum of the showers - it made his head hurt all over again. His stomach was aching, and acids seemed to churn around inside with every passing second that the Kira suspect kept him awake.

When Light exited the bathroom, he turned on the lights of the room which made L groan out loud. He opened his eyes to see the teen in clean clothes with a towel around his shoulders, his chestnut hair that had been getting long fell on it haphazardly. Light stood by L's bed and said, "It's two o'clock in the afternoon, you know."

Tick, tick. How time flies. "Okay," L said, burying his face in the pillow to shelter himself from the offending lamp bulbs. "Time for Light-kun to go back to bed. He's a growing boy and he needs his sleep."

Light chuckled in such a way that made L shiver again. His mood had clearly improved with the good seven hours of sleep that he had acquired, and L feared that his cognitive ability had also improved. "I'm fearing the apocalypse, for why else would Ryuuzaki actually condone resting?"

"Mmph." _Please shut up and leave me alone. _"If you want to be useful, get me another blanket."

He laughed again, but obeyed by taking the comforter off of the bed he had been sleeping in and tossing it on top of the feverish detective. The added pressure of an additional blanket on L's trembling body felt good, but he was still cold. Light put a hand on L's sweaty forehead. "Wow, I think sleeping actually made your fever worse. Your body is obviously in shock from participating in such a foreign activity."

L gnashed his teeth together and flipped his head so that Light's cold hand was no longer touching it. "I'm sufficient enough, or I will be if you will just sit down quietly and stop making yourself a bother."

"Making myself a bother? I just got you that blanket!" But Light was grinning as widely as ever. He assumed that the youth was only too happy to see his enemy huddled defenselessly and essentially at his mercy. "You know what this means, right?"

"I don't know precisely what you're referring to."

"We're not going on that flight tomorrow morning," he stated with cat-like pleasure. "You need to stay here until you get better, because if you go you'll spread your sickness to everyone on the plane."

"Preposterous," the older youth muttered. "My germs aren't going to surpass a five foot radius, I'm a hundred percent certain. Ninety-three percent certain that they won't even pass a three foot radius."

"Yeah, and I have to sit within that three foot radius," he shrugged. "So we're staying here."

"Fine." L didn't really care in the first place. Actually, he the thought of traveling back to the airport and on the plane made his stomach want to retch. "That's fine. Now go play Solitaire or something. If you watch television, please mute it."

"Don't worry, Ryuuzaki, I have no intention of bothering you." Light walked over to the window on the wall, and peered through the shades which had been tightly closed. "I'm going to go tour Moscow. It didn't really hit me that I was here before, but now there are so many places that I want to go see."

"No." L's eyes narrowed, and he turned his head to the youth as he made his command. "Don't leave this hotel, Light-kun."

"Sorry, Ryuuzaki," he answered with an arrogant look of superiority. "I want to see the Kremlin first hand. I'll be back later."

"I said _no_," L said angrily, sitting up by propping himself on his elbows, and then regretting the pain in his head. "If you aren't going to listen to my direction, then I'm calling your father right now and putting you back into his care."

To his disappointment, Light laughed out loud at that bluff. "I'll do the same for you." And with that, he turned to leave, snatching a room key from the counter. Just before he exited into the hallway and closed the door behind him, he called in with a smirk, "And get some more sleep, why don't you. You look awful."

L was left fuming. His head forced him to lay down again miserably. He pulled the blankets over his head as he scowled. _Damned Kira..._ Hopefully Light would have the sense to not talk as he wandered the streets, at risk of being an obvious tourist and get mugged, murdered or kidnapped. An obvious tourist, what the hell, he was _clearly _Asian and there was no way many people would think of him as a native Russian. And if Light did something _too_ stupid, he might get himself arrested. He wouldn't feel any loyalty to L and would without a doubt drag his companion to the interrogation room, too. A classic prisoner's dilemma, a Nash equilibrium.

But more than that, L was certain that Light would be gathering an army of chess pieces. He wouldn't find much without any friends in this foreign country, but he might find a knife, a noose or poison. And with this damned fever, L would be unable to defend himself well if such a situation arose. Stupid X-factor. If only he had his strength, he could have kept the teen in this room by force, or tie him up if necessary (now would have been the ideal time to have that six foot long chain, as opposed to when Light had lost his memories of Kira). Any preventative measures, because he would hate to die before he found his true name. And even without his name, he sure as hell did not want to lose to Light Yagami. Putting the case on hold was one thing, but losing was one hundred percent different.

If only Light were the one sick and trapped in bed, not he.

L pondered this just a little longer, until without his consent, sleep took hold of his eyes and claimed him.

* * *

Now that he had overcome his initial anxiety, Light was sincerely excited to be wandering the streets of Moscow. Even if the snow was a bother, it made the age-old city seem almost majestic. The intellectual sponge that was his brain began greedily absorbing every sight and every building. Even the people he passed by exhilarated him because he could hear them speak so musically in Russian, another foreign wonder. He could have toured aimlessly for hours, and he intended to, but he had a primary destination - a clothing store. He bought a heavy black coat for himself (he spoke in English, thankfully the clerk did, too) and then as an afterthought one for L as well (because his Kira probability percent would certainly significantly rise if he did not). 

After that, the cold snow was far more tolerable, and he was filled with an almost giddy delight as he passed the Monument to Peter the Great and the Red Square. They were places he had read about in books, or heard about in school. History classes, geography classes, economy - he aced them all, he always did, and he did so on pure memorization skills. But being here was something completely new. As he stood before the grand Kremlin, a center symbol of Russia's government, it became clear that not all things in life could be purely understood from books alone.

It was an enticing feeling. It was fascination. His chest heaved in it and he raised his eyes upward, smiling. He would be particularly sure to keep an eye out for Moscow's criminal rate when he got back to Japan. This place was just too amazing to be dragged down by the wretches.

And there were wretches.

He was in Victory Park, a place of memorial that was almost serene under the soft tufts of falling snow. But two boys of unidentifiable ethnicity, perhaps his own age, squatted by an old fountain that looked antique in its own right. One of them had a small box knife in his hand, and he was carving a message in the fountain. A dumb tribute to graffiti that the fountain would have to pay for for eternity.

"Don't," Light said in English, approaching them. His arms were loose at his side, but because his stance was so casual he knew it was more threatening. "Don't deface the fountain."

The boys jumped at the unexpected tone, and turned serpentine eyes to the Japanese boy. They exchanged quick glances, and then one sneered in the same language, "Who are you, fucker?"

"I work here, that's who I am," Light answered in his best British accent (Ryuuzaki might have criticized). He didn't so much as flinch as the two boys stood up, and one of them was taller than he was, and still clutching his weapon. "Surrender the knife and leave now, or I'll call the police."

"Do you think we're scared of a dumbass like you?" one answered with tough defiance, running his finger along the tip of a blade. "No one else is here, we could slice your Asian throat and no one would know."

Light found himself laughing. Because he was Kira, and they were wretches, and he was a _genius_ and they were morons, because he was _righteous_ and they were offenders. And all it would take was a little lie, and he would win this game. "You're being recorded as we speak. There's a camera in that pole, there, behind us, and at the one in front of me, too. Everything stays on record for two weeks. And Russia doesn't like criminals... and neither does Kira."

The faces of the boys comically froze at such a threat, and the knife fell into the snow. At the very word 'Kira' they bolted into the streets, leaving nothing behind but footprints that the snow would cover up anyway.

And Light was happy as he knelt down and pocketed the knife. Not just because the knife had potential uses against his nemesis (buying one would have been an issue - he was using L's credit card and the detective would undoubtedly check records of every purchase), but the fact that Kira's name had frightened off offenders was proof. This world was turning to Justice as its god. Light had the holy task of protecting the beautiful things in the world by eliminating the ones who would destroy it. The goddess of victory was smiling at him. It was all going according to his calculations.

The only thing left was L. The one stubbornly refusing to believe that just maybe, Kira was making the world a better place.

Out of habit, he glanced at his watch as though he had the X-ray vision to see the piece of Death Note embedded under the bronze metal and glass. _Tick, tick_, the watch mused. Light saw that it was getting late, and he probably should get back before L disappeared or called the police on him, or something.

And for now, he had to lay low. He wouldn't even risk calling Misa yet, not today and not tomorrow. L was suspecting everything and was even more suspicious because he was ill and stuck in bed and had nothing better to do. Contacting her now would be pointless, anyway. But in a few days it might be vital. If the thirteen day theory really was tested (he would have to call his father and somehow worm the information out of him), Misa might again be apprehended and he didn't trust her to suitably hide the Death Note. For now all he wanted to do was to find perhaps a coffee shop with public internet access, should he ever have an emergency and need a computer. He sincerely doubted that L would let him hack the databases of police organizations on his laptop.

As he was going back to Baltschug Kempinski Moscow hotel, he stopped at a small store and bought some aspirin. It wasn't that he cared that the cursed detective had a fever, it was just that if he knew if he didn't show a good effort he would fail the Kira test. Besides, with L constantly at his throat he might have a need for aspirin himself.

He also bought chicken noodle soup. That's what his mother always made him when he was sick, anyway.

* * *

L woke up groggily but quickly enough when the door opened again. His head was spinning and he felt more reluctant to move than he had before. Wasn't all of this damned sleeping helping at all? If it wasn't benefiting the cause, then he'd rather do away with it all together... on second thought, no, no he wouldn't. And Light stood by the bed, looming over him like a golden shadow, smirking as though he were very pleased with himself. "I was very close to calling your father, Light-kun," L mumbled out in reprimand for the sake of saying something. 

"Uh-huh," Light answered smugly with a wide grin. "Too bad the fact that I'm in Russia is entirely your fault in the first place, and there's not much that my father could do about this now anyway."

"I was also very close to calling President Vladamir Putin," L said more irritably, narrowing his eyes so that his vision wouldn't be so blurry on the teen's face. "Perhaps you've heard of him, the political leader of this country? I've met him personally."

Light made a face, seating himself on a wooden chair that was next to the desk at the wall. "I doubt that. You haven't met _anyone_ personally."

"I've met _you_ personally," L argued without much of a point in mind.

"No one famous."

"You're very humble for a world renowned mass murderer, Kira."

Light twisted his lips into a hard smile as his face battled between flushing and indifference. Finally he shrugged, and lifted a brown paper bag with items that he had apparently purchased. "Whatever. I bought you some aspirin, Ryuuzaki. And some chicken noodle soup, and a new coat. Now please tell me my Kira suspicion points have decreased."

"Gone up." L pushed himself weakly up by the elbows, wondering vaguely if edging on the boy was the best way to get the pain-killing pills. "Kira would surely suck up to me during such a critical situation."

Light was busying himself with styrofoam cups and bowls for water and soup respectively. There was a small microwave on the counter that he began heating up the soup in. He chuckled quietly in response to L. "Why are you so cranky, anyway? Is it because you're sick and can't tour Moscow?"

That statement hit a sensitive spot for L, and he could have growled. It was a snide reminder that he was in a vulnerable position and that he could not control Light like this. And under present circumstances, he had scant pawns that would follow his orders and aid him if he needed it. All he had was an extreme trump card - contacting big governments and international organizations, who surely would respect L's orders, but it was risky to his own personal security so he would only do it if need became dire. "Light-kun," he finally said firmly. "May I remind you that you are here under my guardianship, therefore you need to be following _my_ orders. I have reasons for the things that I ask, so if you don't respect my requests again I'll have to assume that you really are Kira, and I will have you detained."

Light was hardly put down as he handed L a few of the colored aspirin pills and the cup of water. "Ryuuzaki, you think I'm Kira because I bought you chicken noodle soup. I think there's no helping it no matter what I do, and I wanted to see Moscow."

_It's not that I _think_ you're Kira. I _know_ you're Kira, and I just want to find an explanation as to why._ L glowered as he gulped down water and pills. It stung his throat as he swallowed, but he forced it down anyway. "Even so. Having a Kira suspect trailing me on my journey is difficult enough. If he's being uncooperative it is even worse."

Light took the warm soup out of the microwave, still smiling in a carefree manner that was not void of dark undertones. He seated himself on the bed at L's side almost mockingly, showcasing the fact that he had free movement and the detective who had chained him up for so long did not. "You should be worrying about yourself, not me," he said with that almost, just _almost_ threatening curve of his lips that he would claim was sincerity. "My dad told me to follow you with the intention of ensuring your safety. If you stay sick I'd feel personally responsible."

It was a threat, definitely. L's eyes darted over to the can of chicken noodle soup. It was freshly opened. He didn't miss some movement of Light's to poison it somehow, right? No, he had been watching him like an owl. But his cognitive ability had significantly decreased due to this fever, as well as his visual abilities. There was no telling what he could have left unobserved. "You realize that I don't eat soup," he finally said lamely.

"Honestly, if you want to get better this will help." Light frowned as though he cared, and saw that L was glancing at the tin can that it had come in. "You know I didn't do anything to it... or are you worried about Russian food standards?"

"No, I don't like soup," L said stubbornly, feeling very childish but the food truly did not look appealing, throwing aside the fact that his natural paranoia suspected that it contained lethal chemicals. "Besides, I'm vegetarian."

"You're _what_?"

"I'm vegetarian. You got me chicken noodle soup, and I thank you for the kind gesture. But I don't eat meat, not even poultry."

Light looked genuinely frustrated, and he replied very snappily. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. You are _not_ vegetarian. That implies that your diet consists of mostly, or at least _some_ vegetation. Have you heard of vegetables even? God. The fact that you only eat marshmallows and cookies does not qualify you as any such thing."

"The fact that you don't believe I can be vegetarian brands you as a narrow-minded extremist, just like a certain idealist who kills criminals with the intentions of purifying the world," L snapped right back, feeling none-too-patient and hot-headed himself. Literally hot-headed, too, why the hell did he have to be the one suffering this fever? Why was he the one out of control? No Watari, no home, no name, just a virus and an adversary to call his own.

"Just eat the damned soup!" Light shoved the warm bowl forward with red eyes that were furiously superior. Light may have been genuinely irritated, but he clearly knew that L's anger only meant that the detective felt intimidated. The ball would be in his court then.

L could not stand for that. And suddenly, he knew what he could do about that. In the recent epiphany, a plan formed itself in his conniving brain. He swiped his hand in the air, and with his palm he knocked the styrofoam sustenance clear across the room. There was a split second of pure silence as the bowl of soup hit the wall, and splattered yellow-orange liquid along the white wallpaper.

Light stared, with a look of _I-can't-believe-you-just-did-that_ all over his face. And then he was snarling, leaning on top of L. He snatched him by his white shirt and pulled him up by the collar, hissing in his face. "You are the most inconsiderate, childish bastard I've ever met! Let me remind you that I paid you a favor by buying you that, while can hardly _move_!"

The detective was still as he caught Light's fiery gaze. He recognized this - it was the teen's aggression and would-be dominance. And if he remained sick, the seconds were numbered until Light's victory. That was simply _not_ an option. The detective weakly placed his own hands on Light's curled fist, realizing this situation was all directly a result of the X-factor. It was an unfortunate coincidence (even if he had been the one out in the rain in the first place), but it could ruin everything. If he remained the vulnerable one, he laid in hopeless waiting for some trap to spring.

...But he had his own trap especially set for Light Yagami. And now that the brunette was close to him, he could set it in motion. The X-factor wasn't a permanent handicap to his game pieces, and more importantly it could be pegged on other pieces. L didn't claim to be a doctor, but he knew all about bacteria. If he coughed in Light's face, his tainted breath would be contagious and there would be a small percentage of a chance that Light would pick up the disease.

But the percentage significantly increased if the contact was more direct. He estimated that he could bring the chance up to a good sixty percent in fact, the longer he held his position.

So L, with all the strength he could muster, raised his head upward to where Light's own leering face was above him. The boy naturally tensed slightly as if expecting a blow, but L lifted his hands and wrapped them around the back of Light's neck to lower the chance of escape. Then he went in for the very calculated kill: he pressed his mouth against Light's partly opened lips and plunged his tongue into the warm vessel.

Light had completely frozen all over in surprise, which suited L all the more. L tightened his hands around the teen's neck to force him closer, and to extend his tongue even further inward. He explored the roof of Light's mouth, as well as his own limp tongue, and everywhere he went he left a trail of bacteria. He coated the mouth in it like a thin frosting, adventuring into every crevice and cranny of this particular cake. The other boy, an extraordinary genius and murderer of a thousand people, only stared in wide-eyed, flabbergast shock.

Because L, his greatest challenger and declarer of his execution, was kissing him.

Light wasn't moving, and L certainly wasn't going to be the first to back off. Every additional millisecond that he violated Light's health was an increase in the percentage that he could catch the sickness. Sixty two percent... sixty three percent... and he was enjoying this sweet victory. He was _really_ enjoying it. It made his stomach lurch in excitement when he thought that soon Light would be the one at the mercy of the X-factor. (At least, that's why he assumed his stomach was lurching. It could have been the acids churning again.)

And finally, it happened. It could have been ten seconds, it could have been a minute, but Light finally recovered himself. His fist raised at it flew through the air, connecting with L's cheek as he pulled away. L had expected this and recoiled, falling back down into the bedsheets. Light's eyes were wild with dumbfound confusion, and he scrambled off the bed, staring at L. "What... what the _hell_?"

L contained his smirk as he pulled the blankets up to his shoulders (being out of them for even that brief period sent chills throughout his whole body). "I was imagining that if you were Kira, you would respond aggressively," he explained in an emotion-free monotonous voice (it was a lie, because Light Yagami was sometimes aggressive on his own when agitated, regardless of Kira).

Light's cheeks flushed pink. "Th-that's not fair," he stammered, backing up. Being in Russia certainly put him on edge, the youth was completely out of his element.

The detective studied the suspect meticulously, but he was inwardly laughing. _Light Yagami, our game was never fair. Not in Tokyo, not in Moscow, not anywhere we ever go._

And as if reading his thoughts, Light turned around and exited the room, slamming the door behind him. But L relaxed, hugging a pillow against his chest. Light would come back. He didn't have a choice, because he would know that L wouldn't bluff about having him arrested. And once he did come back... L rather hoped that he was fully recovered by then, so _he_ could be the one gloating.

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

1. I cut a scene from this chapter, because I felt like it was getting long. ;-; But it's in the next chapter now. Which means, technically I've already started writing chapter 6. Yessss, go me.

2. Nash Equilibrium/Prisoner's Dilemma - an economic concept of two businesses (illustrated as people) who claim to work together will ultimately cheat to better their own circumstances and in the end, both persons will be worse off. (A criminal prisoner rats out his partner-in-crime to lessen his own sentence)

3. I've been waiting to have sick!L kiss Light with malicious intentions ever since I decided that L was sick... which was at, like, the beginning of the story. Did you catch the hints? Ha, I didn't think I could get them to kiss unless there was a darker element involved at risk of pure fluff.

4. I must admit that I don't speak any Russian whatsoever. The phrases here are ones that I've found online and through my sister. Translation basically goes: Ryuuzaki greets the taxi driver with a "good morning", and the taxi driver responds with "how are you". Ryuuzaki says "Good, thanks" and then tells him that they are going to the hotel and provides an address. At the end, Light says at the limits of his ability, "fuck you".

5. The hotel and the airline are real, as are the places in Moscow. (The Kremlin is basically like the White House of the US)

6. Everyone who reviewed wins a bagel:-D And I _still _have some left over. They're starting to get kind of crunchy... and soggy... at the same time, so I stopped eating them. No, but you guys are great. All feedback, be it encouragement, constructive criticism or flame is appreciated because I really want to improve as a writer (I'm toying with the idea of becoming an author... so I need all the improvement that I can get. heh!).

7. I just realized how much I'm focusing on three basic concepts: love, time and truth. It definitely carries through to later chapters, too.

Thank you everybody! -Serria


	6. Russian Sonata

**DESIDERATUM: Chapter 6 **

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.

**RUSSIAN SONATA**

* * *

What the... what the hell had _that_ been? 

Light rapidly paced through the hallways of the grand hotel without a destination in mind further than 'away'. The hallways were a labyrinth and he made his turns without pattern or reason. Where was the Minotaur this time? Back in room 483, planning his next atrocity to capture the righteous god Kira. He might as well have been holding a handgun again with those offending black-as-coal vacant eyes. Leaving him to wonder if there were bullets in the fucking gun. That conniving little half-smile, the meticulous way he watched Light's every movement, the way he put himself right on the line and says "_I am L..."_

"God damn it!" Light found himself shouting in the empty hallway. He slammed a curled fist against the wall, buckling over. L had more than once rendered Light into a position of vulnerability and discomfort. He had more than once made the suspect's heart stop beating as he voiced out loud accusations and both metaphorically and literally tied his hands behind his back. But this. _I've never been so humiliated in my life_! _That _bastard_, that fucking god damned bastard! _ His cheeks were flushed not pink but red, red as the blood that pooled in his head. He was shaking like a madman in his fury.

What the fucking hell had that been?!

Light tried to reason, but in his rage all he felt was the snarling humiliation. L wasn't afraid to cross the line. In all the time that he had known him, that had never been the case. L didn't fear disapproval of his rash actions. He wasn't even hesitant when it came to rendering everyone else speechless when he calmly and heartlessly gave his orders - plant illegal bugs in those houses, hire criminals to work right along side the law enforcement, kidnap and torture, mock execution to be performed by suspect's own _father_, violate every human right possible... evil. L was evil, and he had... he had _kissed_ him in another twisted plot to destroy Justice.

But... why that?

The heat filled Light's cheeks all over again. He felt kicked off his own feet, just like he had on the airplane. And it was hot, everywhere was so damned _hot_ even though there was no one in sight. He was alone in Russia without a friend at all, and his worst enemy was toying with him. Not even Ryuk was here to give him the company that _didn't_ make him fear for his life.

It was deplorable. Rashly contemptible, and wholly unforgivable. That's all that Light could think. L had done this just to get a rise out of him, to see if he would slip up. And he was a little bit afraid to go back to the hotel room. The action had already been muddled, he had raised his hand and struck the man. _Aggressive reactions, Light-kun, just like Kira. _The detective would leer at him smugly as he threatened to have him detained, and those abhorrent eyes were as dark and inexpiable as the righteousness he thought he wielded-

..No.

A surge of laughter bubbled up from inside Light's throat. "Ha, ha!" he found himself letting it out. It was the best thing about putting a foot over the edge - the victims had a choice whether or not to play into the offender's hand or not. Light wouldn't be the one playing into L's hands, oh no, not ever. Because when one cooled his head and stripped away the intended malapropism, one realized that the tormenter's scheme was nothing more than a challenge.

It was just a kiss. Light had kissed a hundred girls and he had been the one in control. So why should this be any different, why should he let it bother him so? Granted, Ryuuzaki was hardly a giggling, half-brained female; oh God he was nothing like them. On the contrary he was a morbid bastard who wanted nothing more than to sentence his 'first ever friend' to death. But Light wasn't about to give the devious detective any more satisfaction. He refused to be the one to slip up. He would not be the the one to lose the staring contest, absolutely not the first one to look away.

Light did not back down from challenges. And Light had no intention of losing. "Very well, Ryuuzaki," he murmured. "I accept."

But the time would have to be right. L had scored a point by getting to Light once, so Light would destroy the evidence. If Light Yagami was Kira, Kira might be expected to be blatantly unforgiving. Kira might retrieve the knife in his coat pocket and end L for good for such an oppositional blow. An innocent Light Yagami, however, would have initially questioned Ryuuzaki about it before ever leaving the room. However, what was done was done, so the next thing that particular Light would logically do would be to act as though nothing had happened and bring it up another time. This would be fine. He took a breath and raised his head, and then wandered back to room 483.

* * *

_"Light-kun? Aren't you feeling well?"_

_Light blinked his eyes back into reality to find his companion's ashen face only a foot in front of his own. The eyes were wide and should have been unreadable, but with all the time that Light had spent with L this past week he had begun to be able to pin the stringent expressions (or lack thereof) down. Now that face was contorted, ever so minimally and the normal bystander would have missed it, into a look of concern. That didn't exactly mean that L was actually concerned, it just meant he was trying in his own way to express just that. Insincerity was one thing, but still making the choice to try counted, too. Anyway, Light did appreciate that, so he answered honestly. "I'm okay. I guess I'm just a little weary. Not tired, I mean, I can still work, but... weary."_

_"Really?" L stared, considering his companion again, and then retreated back to his swivel chair. He fumbled with his toes but he was still watching. "Do you want to call your family?"_

_It was commendable of the often insensitive detective to offer such a thing. And honestly, the idea sounded appealing. His father and the rest of the task force had gone home for the night already, surrendering the eighteen year old to be chained to L. It was an odd, if ironically lonely arrangement, and they were still trying to work out the kinks. Light couldn't say that he liked it, but it sure as hell beat having his arms cuffed behind his back and being left without human contact in a prison cell for fifty days. Most importantly, if this could prove his innocence, then Light was more than willing to let L do whatever he wanted. _

_"Well?" L was waiting for an answer, that relentless stare still on him.  
_

_"I don't," Light said finally, shaking his head. As his shook his head, his auburn hair which had grown long and unruly during his captivity brushed against his cheeks - another unhappy reminder of how life here was different than home.  
_

_"I just asked because you've lived with them all your life. I conjectured that perhaps the source of your weariness was the extreme change in pace that you've been subject to over the last fifty-six days. Are you certain that communicating with your mother wouldn't put you at ease? I don't mind, as long as you use my phone and allow me to record everything stated."_

_"It might help," Light admitted truthfully. "But I don't want to be reliant on them, either. Even if I'm innocent, I'm the primary suspect for the Kira case. I can't act like a child anymore. I have to be stronger than that."_

_"I'd rather that you act precisely how you normally act. It'll be much easier for me to determine if you are Kira that way." L said this very seriously, but Light could identify a moderate kindness in the tone._

_They were quiet for a few minutes, and then they heard footsteps in the hall. Watari, who must have been listening from the video cameras, swung the door open. He was wearing a dark suit and he looked as much like an English gentleman at one in the morning as he did at noon. He smiled in a grandfatherly way at the boys as he carried a tray. "Ryuuzaki, Light, let's take a break now." He set the tray on the table, revealing a platter of chocolate chip cookies and three glasses of milk._

_L immediately extended his legs to the ground to push his swivel chair over to the table, right next to Watari. He took one of the gooey desserts in his thumb and index finger, and took a bite shamelessly._

_"You too, Light," Watari urged when the younger boy just watched. "I baked them myself, believe it or not! I do not claim to be the most exquisite of cooks, but my own mother taught me the necessities. Namely, cookies. Come, come, then, try one and tell me if they taste like a mother's."_

_"Light-kun prefers to watch," L commented offhandedly in between bites. "Consuming a cookie would make him feel like a child, and he is clearly too grown-up for such a juvenile tactic."_

_Light found himself grinning, and reluctantly he seated himself at the table, too. "Thank you, Watari. It's just that I'm not very hungry right now."_

_ "Ah, my boy." There was a twinkle in the elderly man's eyes. "Since when do we, as the race of human beings, eat cookies because we are hungry?"_

_The brunette considered, and then he gave in. He took a glass of milk in addition to a cookie. He tore the dessert into two half-circles, and he took one of these pieces and dunked it in the milk. After it had soaked for a few seconds, he removed it and brought it to his lips. When he put it in his mouth, he let out a small sigh of approval. It was soft and warm, just the way he had always eaten them as a child. For the first time, he felt almost at ease around L and Watari.  
_

_"You dunk your cookies in milk?" L, who had melted chocolate on his lips, said with the closest thing to disbelief he had heard from the detective since the Second Kira's tape about Shinigami. "That really is a juvenile tactic."  
_

He could always stab him. That vengeful thought was nice. The knife lay in waiting in the pocket of his coat. Just to imagine what that would be like - the fury all concentrated on that single blade, sliding like thunder into that bastard's chest. And then it would be over, all over, and Light would have freedom. Freedom to be Kira, and if L couldn't stop him then no one in existence could. But he knew, as he reached the door with the correct numbers on it, that this wasn't yet a possibility. What would he do with the body? The hotel would find that carcass at check-out time, and they already had his identification (even if it was fake, it was the only one he had) on record. No, killing L couldn't be a mere crime of passion. It, like everything else, had to be perfectly calculated.

Light was infinitely glad that he had never removed the room key from the pocket of his pants - even with his resolution it would have been indignant to have to knock on the door and have L let him in. As it was, he clicked open the lock and very casually strode in, fully intending to act as though nothing had happened. When he looked inside, he saw L sitting with his back propped up by pillows (half of those pillows had once belonged on Light's bed). A small bench-like table rested on the detective's knees, and on this table was a giant bowl of fruit - strawberries, grapes, and melon - which was doused thoroughly in sugar.

When L turned to see Light, he smiled and waved a hand. "Good news, Light-kun!" he declared.

"What's that?" Light asked, trying to determine what angle L would be playing at. He couldn't be startled, he _refused_, he would just have to figure out where the enemy would strike from.

"The aspirin decreased my headache by eighty-two percent! I felt so much better that I ordered room service." L was clearly brightened just by being able to say this, but then he frowned. "The cheesecake looked delectable on the menu, but I calculated that if I consumed that, there would be a sixty-four percent chance that I'd just throw it up, so I decided to eat something healthier. Thus the fruit."

Light shook his head disbelievingly as he crossed the room to his own bed, now very bare without blankets or pillows. "Sometimes I wonder if you don't just pull those percentages out of your ass," he remarked dryly as he sat down, resting weight on his hands as he leaned back.

"Hmm." L regarded him with what was either a smile or a frown as he sucked on the end of a sweetened strawberry. "Is Light-kun angry because I didn't order him anything? I'm sorry. I didn't even think of you."

_Aha. That was it_. L was also willing to act as though nothing had happened. He wasn't even playing off of Light's reactions, because he clearly made the first attempt at conversation, and rather immediately so. Light reached for the television remote that was on the nightstand. "No, I'm not hungry. If you can keep fruit down, if one can still call it fruit despite the fact that it probably has a higher concentration of sugar than it does natural fructose, then don't worry about me. You'll need the energy to recover."

"That's true, isn't it." L popped another strawberry in his mouth, putting on an entirely unreadable expression as he gazed at the brunette. "Why are you doing that?"

"Doing what?" Light asked mildly as he flipped through the channels. He didn't usually watch television except for the news - dramas and shows never really interested him. They were generally shallow, melodramatic and artificial, so he preferred the real world. However, it was a little bit more difficult to discern what particularly was an acted show and what was a factual program at the moment, because every channel spoke purely in Russian.

"Watching TV. You can't understand what they're saying, can you?" There it was. Suppressed amusement.

"It's easy enough to get the idea just by watching the pictures. You don't always need words to get an idea." Light spoke tentatively, half expecting this to be some kind of test. There were a number of factors to consider. He had landed on a channel with a reporter who was clearly, judging by video footage, discussing a murder case. Though there was a possibility that this was some sort of re-run or from a movie and not real at all. Would the fact that he was watching the news lead to the conclusion that he must be Kira, because Kira got all of his names and faces from the media? Or could Light Yagami innocently watch because as a bright student he preferred to learn everything the news offered?

"No, I suppose words don't always mean very much," L said thoughtfully. He was watching the screen now. "But I would've thought that you would find it frustrating. You always liked to know everything, even what was probably irrelevant."

"Why do you think that? I also like puzzles and intellectual engagement," Light countered. "If you know everything, puzzles lose their fundamental value."

"I think that because I would also find it frustrating, and you and I are alike."

Light's lips tightened, and he gave the news program his full attention again. There, damn it all, there was the mug shot of the murder suspect, with his name right there in Russian characters. His hand twitched, and he couldn't help but instinctively wish that he had the Death Note. This was a criminal who would escape through the net this time, because it was doubtful Misa would catch him. Another wretch to muck up the world. Light sighed, and then realized that L was still expecting some sort of answer. So he said, "I'm watching it to calm my nerves. I used to watch the news habitually when I lived at home."

"And Light-kun misses home," L mused. "Being away for so long unsettles him."

He could have denied it in a prideful attempt, but that really wouldn't accomplish anything. Contrarily, if he confirmed, it showed off a vulnerability that Kira theoretically wouldn't show. "I suppose it's true."

Either L decided that this was insincere, or he simply didn't care (probably both), because the next thing that the detective said was, "Do you suppose that Kira acquires most of his criminal information from television media?"

If only that bastard wasn't sick, then he might socially have the right to punch him, because he was making such an obvious snide parallel to Light and Kira. Of course, that might be the 'aggressive reaction' that L was looking for, and that needed to be avoided at all costs. He answered calmly. "It seems likely. Or more than that, the internet. If he used the internet he could learn about more criminals worldwide."

"That's true." L put a pink stained finger into his mouth, sucking off the berry juices as he thoughtfully watched the television.

Sourly, Light glanced his way. "You know, for someone who claimed that he was forfeiting the Kira case, you're awfully insincere."

"Light-kun brings out the best in me." He said this in a lazy drawl as he stared at Light as though he were looking through the scope of a rifle. The younger boy kept his eyes stubbornly on the Russian news reporter. After a moment, L continued. "It was because you were watching in a language that you didn't understand. If we can still assume that the original Kira is Japanese, if we throw away the theory that the power transfers from person to person, then we can conclude that he must speak Japanese. But how many more languages does he speak?"

"He could find translations online," Light offered carefully.

"Certainly he could, or he could watch the television like you are doing anyhow and write down the names as they appear. But a naive Kira might murder Aleksandr Pasternak, the man who's face just appeared on TV."

Light paused. "I didn't understand the language, but I'm under the impression that he murdered that family. Isn't that what they said, Ryuuzaki? And Kira judges criminals..."

"You're observant, as expected, Light-kun. The reporter claims that Aleksandr robbed his victim's house in the dead of the night, strangled the children, raped the wife and stabbed the husband thirteen times in the chest. After that, he set the entire house on fire, burning it to ashes, and then fled the city."

He hesitated again, and uncomfortably so, as he tried to figure out L's tone. "You say it as if that's okay."

"Not that. It wouldn't be okay at all, if it were true."

Silence. Light waited expectedly, but L wasn't saying anything, just chewing on his strawberries and watching the television with very casual disinterest. So finally, Light said, "And what led you to such a speculation?"

"Aleksandr Pasternak is just a poor idiot. It's his fault for publicly denouncing government policies here. And maybe it isn't even the government who framed him, but some rich, persuasive aristocrat who believed the man to be a thorn in his side. There's a large financial gap between the rich and the poor, and my intuition tells me that this is corruption at work. The news reporter chose to state that he was a protester in an effort to make them look bad, but in my acclaimed experience there is usually foul play afoot in cases like these."

Light felt something churn uncomfortably in his stomach, and for whatever reason, his heart thumped loudly. "Are you insinuating that Kira has judged innocents? Wouldn't he know better than that, considering all he stands for?"

"I'm simply playing off the hypothesis that Kira is a mere high school or college student, and there is a possibility that he doesn't fully comprehend how complicated the real world works. Most idealists do not. Light-kun, the world is even bigger than you think it is."

Always a bastard. Even sick in bed, a bastard.

"Ryuuzaki." Light stood up, fiercely looking straight into the charcoal eyes of the detective. "Couldn't you have detected that I was indeed watching the television to calm my nerves about being away from home? Your implications that I am Kira undo everything, and then some. I'm too tired to deal with this right now, so I'm going to go take a shower."

"I'm sorry, I never meant to imply any such thing." But the glint in L's eyes made it clear that he was still studying him. "And Light-kun has already showered once today. You are clean, you know."

"I feel dirty," he mumbled as he made his way toward the bathroom.

When he was finished, he found that the lights were off. L had set the table on the floor and was curled up in the blankets. He still had all of the pillows and covers, but Light was too tired to protest. So stripped down to his boxers and lay awkwardly under the sheets until sleep finally carried him to serenity.

* * *

The bright red numbers on the digital clock sitting on the nightstand read 4:05 in the morning. Light's eyes had been forced open because he was shivering harshly. All the heat from his hot shower had left him, and all he could feel was the sharp winter's chill that cursed the room through the glass of the window. It was because L had of course managed to take his god damned blankets even when they weren't in the same bed. Light was wrapped tightly in just thin white sheets, and he was both cold and pissed off. 

He stood up in the darkness and stepped to where L's bed was. He stood looming over it, his jaw clenched as he considered yanking his blanket back. The detective was asleep. Sure, he would notice, but not until he woke up. And maybe he would have to face those snippy Kira accusations when the sun rose (he could hear them now: "Kira would certainly make an effort to prevent my recovery with such a tactic!"), but right now he just wasn't sure if he could deal with being cold.

His shaking hands slowly moved down to the blankets and gripped them. He held his breath, but just as he was about to pull-

"Don't touch my blankets," L's voice murmured. Still half asleep, but L was rarely in any state more extreme. It was as fierce as that monotonous tone could be.

"Ryuuzaki, you have _two_. I don't have any, and I'm really damned cold. This isn't fair."

"Nngh..." L made a sound as he curled his body, probably clutching the blankets with a vice grip from underneath. "It's not fair... that's how it is, Light-kun..."

"Ryuuzaki!" Light said more loudly, hoping that if the detective woke up a little he would be more reasonable. Well, it was a shot in the dark, anyway. "It's freezing!"

"And I'm sick." Even in that bored, low, tired voice he sounded smug. As if he were flaunting that fact even at a state of half-conscious. "... I'm not giving you any... if you want to be warm, just sleep with me."

"Huh?" The statement was innocent. Of course Light knew this. After all, they had slept in the same bed for months. So why did it make Light startled? Was it poorly worded that for some reason he thought of... that incident? No way, obviously he had adjusted to L's peculiar way of speaking by now. No, no, ah God, he was tired and cold and fucking hell he could not handle this right now. So maybe this was L's torture. The bastard probably had cameras set up all over the room already, just to test his reactions, to shake him up because Kira would do such a thing, and all of this bullshit and it was a goddamn icebox in stupid Russia and-

"Will you just do something? It's annoying that you're just standing there," L snapped, apparently more awake now, and cranky because of it.

Oddly enough, that cleared Light's head. What useless thoughts. But the last thing he now wanted to be thinking about was Ryuuzaki - he deserved an hour or two of freedom from that obsessive burden. And when Light was able to think straight, he was very resourceful. So he walked over to the chair where he had neatly laid his new coat, and he returned to his bed. It wasn't quite the length of his whole body, though it was long, but if he curled up a little it served its purpose as a make-shift blanket. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he still had that knife in the coat pocket, and he wondered about the best way to stab somebody.

* * *

L woke up slowly, but calmly. It was a gradual process, but strangely soothing. When he finally opened his eyes he immediately noticed that Light was gone. He sat up (which still hurt, but to a significantly smaller degree) and looked around. The boy was nowhere to be seen. There weren't even any sounds from the bathroom. He was absent from not just the room, but probably the hotel, too. 

This irritated the detective, who wished that he had packed along one of his tracking devices so he could determine where the troublesome brunette was. Well, fine. He swung his legs over to the side of the bed, finding with pleasure that he had the strength to stand up. He had to walk slowly, because his head was still a little muddled, but he made it to the bathroom. After relieving himself, he decided to be venturous and take a shower. He stripped and turned on the faucet, but when the water fell from overhead he decided that he felt too faint to stand that long. So he turned the lever to make it a bath instead.

He didn't know how long he laid in the hot, soapy water. Time felt a little out of control recently. Usually he mentally counted it, and precisely, too. Now such a concept was a beast running ahead, and L didn't know nor care how to tame it. He observed it run from an astronomical distance away, and he didn't count the seconds.

Time was relative, anyhow. Not that it wasn't going by, but...

L found that he was relaxing quite contently on his bed. It was peculiar, because there was nothing that should have been relaxing about the situation. Kira was on the loose, in fact, out of his sight right now planning who knew what. He was still ill, and if he chose to pick a fight then he calculated that the younger boy would certainly have the advantage. And in the past, he hated days where nothing happened. If he wasn't working, he felt dead and useless. It had always been his work that kept him alive... but now? He was in the blankets, sitting up slightly and enjoying a cup of steaming English tea.

He didn't know if the fact that he wasn't thinking about much at all was a good thing, or if it was simply the same dead feeling as before. Maybe it was a preventative measure, because he knew that if he started contemplating too thoroughly then he would remember _Lawliet_ and he would feel like retching. Perhaps it was even a subconscious preventative measure - his ill health had lead his body to choose to blot out everything that could hinder the situation further, so the fact that he was searching for his name seemed like a distant memory. Either way... it was nice.

He wasn't in denial again, was he? _Wammy is dead, and I have no name, and I'm in Moscow..._ The words made sense as he chanted them in his mind. What was it, then? Why wasn't it bothering him?

As if on cue, there was the sound of a key turning in a lock, and then the door opened. Light strode in with his hands in his coat pockets, not looking at L as if there was a chance that he might not be noticed. But L stared at him with a fiercely empty expression, and said, "Light-kun. I told you what I would do if you left the hotel without my permission."

"How do you know I left the hotel?" Light challenged, seating himself on his bed while clutching a new brown paper bag - he had apparently been shopping, using L's rubles and credit carts. L would be sure to research his credit history to confirm where the brunette had been.

"You have snow in your hair," L answered wryly. He was the world's greatest detective after all.

Light scowled, stubbornly looking away. "Well, you can't call the police on me anyway. You could tell them that I was Kira if you wanted, but the only way that they would believe me would be if you revealed your identity. You're trying to stay under the radar, too, aren't you? And if I were arrested, who would take care of you?"

"Ah, but good news." L smiled. "I'm recovering at a steady, constant rate. By tomorrow, I should be fine."

"Good." Light left it bitterly at that, and though he still wasn't looking at the detective, it was clear that he was waiting for more. Namely, an answer to the question, 'did you call the police?' But L did not provide any answer. He chose to let Light wonder instead. The boy was clearly squirming in a hardly contained anxiety as he pulled out the SuDoku book he had purchased and worked on the puzzles. They both knew that if he pressed the matter too far, it would be suspicious behavior.

L instead plugged in his laptop and went online to check his e-mail accounts as well as credit card history. As the machine booted up, he thought about how downright _funny_ it was that they both _knew_, and they knew that the other one knew, too, but they were still pretending. It was a sonata, a sort of duet, but no one was singing.

* * *

This time, when Light woke up at 4:16 in the morning, he was shivering worse than before. The difference was that the heavy coat was draped over him tonight, but it may as well have had ice crystals for fabric fibers. He curled his body and crossed his arms close to his body, but nothing he could do would warm him. The air was raw and frigid. It was so unbearably cold, and _that_ was true frustration. 

He forced himself to his feet, but his legs were weak and wobbly. He clutched the protection of the coat to his skin, but he was still freezing. More than that, his skin was irritated by the touch and protested as though it was sandpaper scraping against it. Light stepped awkwardly over to L's bed, where the detective slept with a content smile on his face.

Again, Light put trembling hands on the top blanket, but as he gripped it he buckled forward. His knees hit carpeted floor and his upper body shook as it lay on the bed.

"..Stop it, Light-kun.." L mumbled.

Desperately, Light tried to find the motivation to pull himself to his feet, but he was so exhausted. It was cold, so damned cold. His fingers clutched that blanket still, and he pulled with his arms the the blanket just wouldn't budge. He buried his face in it.

"You can't have my blanket," L murmured, turning toward Light. He opened his eyes slightly, analyzing the younger male with an unknown level of consciousness. His eyelids opened further then, and he sat up. He leaned forward and wrapped slender fingers around Light's arms, and then with a surprising strength that the detective hadn't had yesterday, he pulled the brunette up onto the bed.

A gasp escaped from Light's mouth and he cringed at the touch against his sensitive skin. But he was on the bed now, and he quickly pulled the sheets and blankets over him. There was more warmth here, but it still didn't seem to be enough. It could be called fortunate that his brief movements had exhausted him, because he fell into an unpleasant sleep almost immediately.

* * *

L woke up at eight-thirty in the morning with a clear head. He sat up and stretched like a cat, feeling strangely... awake. _I'd damn well better feel awake_, he thought with a smile. _I've slept more these past few days than I generally do in a week._ But it was nice. There was no other way to describe it. It was as though the scabs on his brain that were prodded too often had finally had the opportunity to heal, and he felt exceedingly healthy. 

He glanced around the room, which was filled with morning sunlight because the shades hadn't been closed last night. Light's bed was empty... no, Light was in _his_ bed. L looked down thoughtfully at the figure which was buried under blankets right beside him. "Light-kun, good morning!" he said, because usually the other boy was not a heavy sleeper either.

Light didn't answer.

Not to be put down, L tried again. "Light-kun? Is it that you haven't adjusted yet from jet-lag? We've already been in Moscow for days."

Light groaned at that, and twisted his body slightly, but still didn't answer.

"It'll only get worse. I believe that I am fully recovered now, so I'm going to book us tickets to our next destination. It'll be multiple time zones away, too."

"You don't... ugh..." The words were muddled. Slowly, Light lowered the blankets that had been covering his face and he sat up, too. His face was surprisingly pale, and just the act of raising his upper body made his face distort in pain. "Are we going today?"

L nodded, hopping deftly off the bed. "Waiting another day would just be a waste of time. I can pull some strings to get us a flight by this afternoon, so we'll still have time to order breakfast here. We'll arrive in Paris... oh, ideally before 2200 hours, though really that variable is dependent upon the airline. I'll also reserve a hotel room. I haven't come to a decision yet, but we will stay there for one night, at least."

The brunette nodded without looking as though he had paid attention. His eyes, which did not look to L their usual hue of milk chocolate today, were downcast.

As a very disciplined detective, L disliked hasty conclusions based off of initial observations. But he also had extraordinary analytical skills, and... well, he didn't need to flatter himself, because it was quite obvious that there was something wrong with Light. L began to change into clean clothes, and Light who had slept in his boxers began to dress. He was fumbling with a white button-down dress shirt, which wasn't going well because his hands were shaking. The buttons seemed to slip out of his trembling fingers, and L stopped dressing altogether just to watch him. The most peculiar thing was that Light showed no reaction nor evidence of noticing that the detective was studying him - usually he would at least shoot him a nasty glare. But this morning, nothing.

L had just logged onto the internet to claim airline tickets when Light's face suddenly changed. Light put a hand to his mouth, his eyes widening with something akin to horror. He ran into the bathroom. Curious, L followed him and watched as he crumpled down by the toilet. And then he retched, throwing up a disgusting concoction of half-digested food.

L stared in fascination at the boy whose normally handsome features were distorted. He approached him from behind. Light flinched, still hugging at the toilet seat though he wasn't at the moment puking. L seized Light's head, using one hand to hold back the brunette's wild, sweaty bangs and the other one to feel his forehead. It was burning hot, leaking with beads of perspiration.

Mission successful.

"It's annoying," L commented as he helped Light back into the bed. "But if you consume enough aspirin, perhaps you'll make it through the flight without too much discomfort."

Light's voice wasn't much more than a ragged whisper, but if anyone could make such a thing sound malicious, he could. "I swear to God, Ryuuzaki. If you make me go anywhere right now I'll kill you, and I don't give a damn if that means I'm Kira."

"Is that a confession?" he teased. It could have been inappropriate, but L's lips curved into a genuine grin. Kissing Light Yagami had indubitably been a stroke of genius.

* * *

The criminal was Anton Gates. He was a serial killer, submitted to Interpol from the United States. The man had lived in a small town in Florida, where he had lived a relatively normal life. He hadn't exactly volunteered at the soup kitchen, but he had on occasion donated money to various charities. By all accounts, he was just a regular man. Then one day, upon finding out that his wife of eight years was having an affair with her brother's best friend, his sanity must have snapped. He purchased an ax for the sole purpose of chopping her up in their well-to-do apartment, which was a strike against him because he planned out his crime. After that, he picked up his two daughters from day care and slaughtered them as well. And then he went a step further. He hunted down not just the best friend but the brother, too, and murdered them. Following the deed he wandered the streets around eleven at night, and upon running into an innocent biker of no relation to him, he decapitated him with the same ax. 

The death penalty had been scheduled for this man tomorrow. It was for no particular reason other than the wishes of all families involved that the atrocity was kept mostly hushed. Not that it was completely silenced, but it had never been internationally broadcast nor made particular news outside of Florida. This is why Anton Gates was selected to be the one to die by the Death Note without question, unless the supernatural factor of the issue was going to be questioned itself. Interpol told Mr. Gates that should he survive, he would immediately be released. (It wasn't true. They would still most certainly do away with him, but he might live a couple of days longer for experimental purposes.)

"It feels a little foolish even playing along with this," Diane Wittlinger, who had joined the ICPO through the CIA six years ago stated mildly. "No, okay, not a _little_ foolish, but a _lot_ foolish. Remind me again why the hell we're playing games with paper, pens and criminals?"

"I shouldn't have to remind you, Diane," Akiyama Takahashi, the Japanese representative of Interpol, remarked. "President Dressler agreed to this himself. This is L's deductions, not ours, and how many times has L saved our ass?"

"Honestly, how do we know that L is as rational as he seems?" she challenged mildly. "We don't know anything about him, and quite frankly that rubs me wrong. I think we should be researching who and what exactly he is, before we play his games. If he's as genius as he comes across, then I'm worried about our _own_ security."

"I'm not disagreeing with you. But we can't afford to scare him off. The way I see it, if he's going to help us bag cases that our best detectives can't even begin to understand, then let him. Should we trust him? Hell, no, but he's never done us any harm in the past. And what difference does it make at this point anyway, if this 'Death Note' is crap? I'm under the impression that that's what L is trying to figure out himself. Say the supernatural thing fails, well, whatever, we haven't lost anything but a lead."

Diane shook her head incredulously, brown curls tossing. "I'm not a superstitious person, Mr. Takahashi. But suppose this Death Note thing really works, what then? He sent us a piece of paper from it, right? I don't believe it, but hypothetically speaking..."

"He gave us not much more than a slip," Akiyama shrugged. "There's hardly room to write a single name. L is also a control freak, I think, and he wouldn't appreciate the government being able to give all offenders heart attacks. That's also why he hasn't told us any of the guidelines that go along with the paper aside from the thirteen days."

"Ah, we wouldn't do that," Diane insisted, but her brow was furrowed. "Alright, _I_ wouldn't do that. But again, hypothetically... think of all the terrorists and criminals that Kira hasn't gotten to that we could drop if we had that power."

"Diane," Akiyama smiled. "Are you condoning Kira?"

"Christ, no. We're going to capture that sonuvabitch, and let him know that if he wants to pass righteous judgments then he should do it legally, through Interpol."

He laughed at that. "Yeah, we'll definitely let him know that. And in exchange, we'll persuade him to let us know a few things in return. Like you, I am very curious as to how the Death Note works, how he does what he does. And you know something, Diane?"

"Hm?"

"L has a Death Note and this is the guideline that he's insisting on testing. Does this seem odd to you? I don't think he would risk testing it himself, when he knows that we'll comply. But why bother testing _this_ rule? That makes me think he already has his own list of suspects that are only affected by the thirteen day rule. Which means Kira's capture might be just fourteen days away."

Diane's red lips curved into a smile. "I never thought about it that way. Maybe you're right, Akiyama. In which case, upon tomorrow..."

"Upon tomorrow, it'll begin. Better start running, Kira."

_To Be Continued. . . _

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

1. The short italic flashback scenes may seem random... but they all do have a purpose. The symbolism of the particular concept, the development of the characters, a contrast between 'then' and 'now' - I hope it comes across that way.

2. Sonata - A musical piece that is played with instruments (often two or three, in different harmonies) as oppose to vocalized.

3. I'd like to mention now that there's a possibility that this fic's rating will go up (though probably not for a few chapters yet, if it does at all). And if it does, it will not be just because of the shounen-ai element. My current plans for this story are kind of, well, violent to put it broadly, and I'm really not sure how much is appropriate with a T rating.

Thank you for reading! -Serria


	7. Clockwise Convictions

**DESIDERATUM: Chapter 7**

Disclaimer: Death Note isn't mine.**  
**

**CLOCKWISE CONVICTIONS**

* * *

_Tick, tick. Tick, tick_. 

The large clock on the wall of the Kira Investigation Headquarters shyly announced the time as 1:34 in the morning, but that was the only noise in the room aside from the usual hum of computers and the occasional shuffling of papers. Aizawa, Mogi, and Ide had all left for home hours ago, leaving Matsuda who often spent the night anyway and Soichiro Yagami, who sat with a look of tight-lipped frustration. Soichiro was looking through various reports and statistics, as L had always told him to do, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.

"Chief, um... maybe it's time that you go home?" Matsuda suggested sheepishly, gulping a can of Coca-Cola and relishing the caffeine. "It's getting really late, I'm sure your wife is worried."

"They aren't back yet," Soichiro responded with a hardness in his eyes. His fingers were clamped into fists. "I haven't even received word from Light, and I made him promise him to call as soon as he could. Where, in heaven's name could they be?"

"But sir, when you gave permission to Light to find L and bring him back, he warned you that it might take awhile," the young cop tried to reason. "With L in his current line of thinking, it's really hard to tell. But Light-kun can bring him back if anyone can. Also, we have to remember that those two are geniuses, and they know how to take care of themselves."

"Know how to take care of themselves, Matsuda? I always had to force Ryuuzaki to eat vitamins everyday because all he eats is sweets, and when Light obsesses over some problem he won't eat at all unless I remind him," The older man scoffed, but his voice was very serious. "They're just boys. Just children. For the love of every god, why the hell did I let my son leave? He shouldn't have been risking his life on the Kira case in the first place! And why didn't we try harder to stop Ryuuzaki? I don't care if his IQ is a thousand, does he know anything about living on the streets? This situation is ludicrous, and irresponsibility on my part."

Matsuda seated himself at a chair next to Soichiro's at the table. He frowned as he was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. The clock ticked. Then he said, "Sir, it's clear how much you love your son. And I think you might love Ryuuzaki as if he were your son, too. In a way all of us here always saw you as a sort of father, because you've always been our Chief but for more reasons than that, too. But I think you should go home now."

"Matsuda! I-"

"Wait, I'll tell you why," he said hurriedly. "You don't _have _to be here waiting, because L knows how to bypass all of the security in this building. He doesn't need anyone to let him in. And if Light is alone, he'll just go to your house. Sir, I think that you just want reassurance that they are okay. I remember the time that we locked Light in that cell for fifty days, L told you something. He said that worrying about it won't change the results. And if you keep worrying about it, then the rest of us that look up to you will worry about it too, Chief. Maybe we should have faith in them for a few more days?"

Soichiro's throat felt dry, and he hesitated. Then he lowered his head and sighed. "You're right, Matsuda. I'll do my best not to worry. Light really isn't so young anymore, is he?"

"No," Matsuda answered, smiling fondly. "He'll be nineteen in a few months, won't he?"

"Nineteen... Good heavens, how time goes by. It seems like just a few days ago that he still asked for rides on my shoulders." Soichiro stood up, setting down his coffee mug. "And I wonder how old L is? Do you think he still has family?"

Matsuda grinned in response, automatically going over to the coat rack on the wall to get his Chief's jacket. "I don't know. It's-"

_BEEP, BEEP_.

L's largest computer began to whirr as it awoke. The monitor's screen, which had previously been dark due to twenty-minute screensaver, shook alive to white. In large bold font, the words "RECEIVE MESSAGE" strung across the screen in proud declaration. Soichiro bounded over quickly, as if thinking it was perhaps the two boys. At the keyboard, he confirmed a direct connection.

The face of not the gangly, messy-haired Ryuuzaki filled the screen, but the stern, hardened Seijuro Tetsuya of Interpol instead. He wore a dark suit and tie, pressed and clean on his broad shoulders, and Soichiro was a little ashamed of his own currently ragged and tired appearance. But Tetsuya wasted no time with small talk. "Good evening, Yagami-san," he said. "I apologize for contacting you so late, but I've already left Japan and have been organizing stats with others working on the Kira case, and I'd just like to sort out a few things."

"Certainly," Soichiro answered with forced courtesy and a polite smile that he felt too tired for. "How can I help you?"

"We hope that our units can work together in the future, so I would just like some background information on everyone in your force," Tetsuya explained. "It's for security and investigative measures, as well as to employ all of our forces to their maximum abilities. Is that okay?"

"Yes, of course. The Japanese police force has full records of everyone involved. I'll send you the information directly from that database."

"Wonderful." Tetsuya paused. "Watari had been working with you directly, right? And L, too?"

Soichiro knew that he shouldn't hesitate, as he had been sworn to secrecy not to let L's physical appearance slip. However he was a man of principles and did not like to lie. "L talked to us daily through his computer. Of course, we never actually met him. And since Watari's death, we have not heard often from him. I believe he is doing his own personal investigation."

"Yes, of course." He was clearly disappointed under his mask of indifferent profession. "If only he would join us in the flesh. He knows we would be only too happy to give him a well-paying job. Anyway, was there anyone else working with you on the case?"

Soichiro gritted his teeth and decided it would be acceptable to tell the truth this time. Probably necessary, in fact, because if they hid this fact and Interpol found out anyway, they might assume that the Japanese police were hiding Kira. "Yes, my son is working on the case with us. His name is Light. You met him at the funeral."

"So I did. Has he really been working on the case directly from your headquarters?"

"..Yes."

Tetsuya frowned in confusion. "L was fine with revealing all the confidential secrets of the Kira case to an eighteen year old boy?"

"He's almost nineteen," Soichiro found himself saying. That made Matsuda smile, but the police chief felt as though he had just made some kind of slip. Hastily, he said, "Is there anything else I can do for you tonight? I was on my way home."

"No, no, I apologize for being so insensitive about differences in the time zones." The Interpol representative smiled wolfishly. "We'll be in touch, probably tomorrow. Good night."

* * *

There was a certain irony in having a fever, L thought. To touch the infected was like touching a puddle of steaming coffee. It was a heated feeling, and even in the chilly hotel room in Russia it wasn't a pleasant warmth. The scientific explanation for this phenomenon was that the body had, in its everlasting wisdom, raised the internal thermostat to a higher temperature in an effort to kill off bacteria. Light was burning in this fire, yet he was completely unaware. Light did not believe that he was burning at all. 

In Light's eyes, he was freezing.

Of course, L was right and Light was wrong, but Light believed that he was cold anyway. His body was a dead log in the middle of a fierce Russian blizzard. The snow surrounded him, creeping its way into his skin, his bones, his organs. The only reason for this was perception. The body had raised its temperature, therefore a normally comfortable environment was drastically lower in heat than it had initially been. Light huddled himself in the blankets, clutching them as he lay limp aside from the occasional twist and turn, like an infant clutches on to his mother. (Not that L knew much about mothers, but this is what he imagined.)

"You aren't really cold, you know," L mentioned informatively. He had pulled up the chair from the small table and sat perched upon it, his arms around his knees while he watched his companion. "You are simply hypothermic. Your body is actually using your fever as a defense mechanism to speed up recovery and create an internally unbearable environment for the harmful pathogens."

"I'm _fully aware_ of what the medical definition of a fever is." The adolescent's growl was muffled because his face was buried in one of the pillows, rendering the result rather pathetic. "It's useless to reprimand me."

"I'm simply suggesting that you stop complaining about being cold, because it is an untrue statement."

Light took a breath before he answered in a slow, scratchy drawl of forced patience, "Ryuuzaki, what you're saying is correct. But I disagree. I'm cold, I'm honest-to-God cold. It's my perception, so it's my reality."

"Light-kun is wasting his energy on frivolous philosophy," the investigator commented dryly.

"Ryuuzaki doesn't like philosophy?" the younger asked, sitting up slightly.

"No. It's completely pointless to say idealized things that aren't applicable to the real world," he answered easily. Looking at Light's eyes, he meant it, too. He certainly respected Kira, but the ideals were that of a child's. L refrained himself from adding, _Kira may have noble intentions, but he's hypocritical and will never stop crime._ He was not so optimistic about humanity as Light must be.

Light didn't bat an eye, he only said, "You're saying that the perception that I'm freezing isn't applicable?"

L quirked an eyebrow, keeping his face vacant of the sympathy he didn't feel. "Not a bit. It's merely a symptom of a fever, which in turn is a symptom of a hypothermic state, an infection. It's a fact that should be recognized but not lingered upon."

Light seemed to sink further into the mattress, as if giving up but not without a final, sighing retort: "You would've kicked me if I had said that to you when you were sick."

"Not true. I was far too exhausted to do such a thing, though I may have thought about it." L stepped off of his chair and stood up, removing his leering gaze from Light. He took his coat, which was laying in a pile on the floor, and slipped it on. "Anyway, I don't think you'll be able to consume anything now without regurgitating it, so I'm going out to go eat. I hope I can trust that you'll stay in the hotel this time, Light-kun? "

"What?" In a sudden, very much expected desperation, Light raised his eyes. It was clear that he was trying to keep his facial expression very neutral, but his shivering and trembling didn't allow for much acting. "Have you no _shame_, Ryuuzaki? Why are you leaving? It's... it's _your_ fault that I'm sick!"

L chuckled a little under his breath as he pocketed the second room key from the counter. His prime suspect must be really out of his mind if he was actually trying to play a guilt card on _him_. As if he had ever given Light evidence that he would put conscience over what needed to be done! And L certainly had an errand in mind that didn't need to be known to Light. So he simply turned his head slightly back at the feverish adolescent and he smiled. "Yeah. I know."

* * *

Furious and frightened, Light tried to stand up when the door closed behind L. He couldn't let him leave. Having the detective out of his eyesight in unfamiliar territory put him in an extremely vulnerable position. 

But unfortunately, he found that he could hardly walk. His ankles felt like jelly, his knees buckled and his brain threatened to shut down into the unconsciousness of passing out. Climbing back into the bed proved more than enough of a challenge as far as physical activity went.

He clutched the pillows, wanting to tear them to shreds with his fingers and wishing he had the energy to do it. He cursed L under infectious breath, he cursed Rem and her failure, he cursed Watari and the police and Misa and Ryuk and everyone... and then when the cursing had thoroughly exhausted him, the sleep took over.

* * *

The wind was howling. Everywhere in the snowy streets, icy white dust filled the air, blowing onto everything and everyone. The rapid crackling of colliding crystals hissed with a vengeance. Cars that sat still too long were taken prisoner to the moaning frost, and even the ones still rumbling pathetically against the storm began to pale in trepidation against the inevitable winter moaning. 

L didn't know exactly why he was standing in the middle of this.

It had taken only a few minutes to call Tierry Morello (or as he preferred to be known 'Aiber'), who was residing in France, and alert him of his plans to visit. Talking in a hushed tone in a public phone booth had been incommodious, especially considering the distressingly loud wind outside the glass door. But ironically enough, speaking in simple code words on a public phone was an extremely safe method of forewarning Aiber that he was bringing Kira with him to Paris without Light finding out. The professional con-man still owed L a favor or two, even after his help in the downfall of Higuchi. So naturally, as L expected, he had agreed to privately incarcerate Light in Paris, if L was to go somewhere that he didn't want the mass-murderer to follow.

That place being, of course, Whammy's House. It was there, in the secret basement vaults underneath the complex, with the most modern of technologies, that L's official records were kept. His birth certificate, his finger prints, the only pictures of him. Being a casuistic investigator, L had vehemently rejected these and had wanted them entirely destroyed. Quillsh Whammy had put them there, opting to let them continue their meager existence, because if need ever came up for requiring the truth...

L required the truth.

But the strangest thing was that when he was around Light, he didn't need it quite as much. It was a peculiar situation, really. Certainly it had been ages since he had been as close to anyone other than Watari, and it was possible that he had simply adjusted to the brunette's constant presence. But Light brought out his competitive side that refused to give up on Kira. Light brought out the side that refused to be the loser, come what may. The side that was Justice, and would absolutely let the other know that before the end. In simple terms, L supposed that Light was a distraction.

And maybe _that_ was why he was standing outside the large grocery store labeled _Viadi_ in huge Russian letters. Upon coming to this realization, he opened the heavy doors, stepping inside and out of the storm. It was still chilly inside the place, but it was relieving to be out of the heaving winds.

L bought Light chicken noodle soup.

Not that it was a relevant piece of data whatsoever, but didn't Light say that it was good to eat when one was feverish? Also, of course, that wasn't even the reason that L was here. It was just convenient, because he wanted to buy a bag of marshmallows and chocolate bars. Of course. Even if he had wanted to buy Light the soup, that wasn't an illogical action either. Because if Light stayed sick, then he might die, and there was no way that L would let another Kira die before arrest and interrogation. If that happened, there would never be any answers to the mystery of the Death Note, and L wanted to be ready the moment a new Kira sprouted up.

And then he heard it.

_Ding dong ding dong ding dong..._ The chiming of a bell. Just a small, high-pitched sound, but it was there. The bells were ringing. Here they were, in Russia, the bells, the truth...

L, in a sudden giddy fit, followed the noise to the entryway of the store. He was biting his thumb with fierce vigor, and he was not in his right mind. He _knew_ he wasn't in his right mind, so he _couldn't_ be insane, but it was as though the rows of groceries had become the spidery trees that surrounded the bell towers, and the voices of the impatient shoppers became the crying of young children. Mr. Whammy was with him, at least he was somewhere, and Lawliet wanted to hold his hand-

_Dingdongdingdongding..._

"Good afternoon, young man!" It was an old woman, wrinkled and thin, standing by the windows of the store behind the check-out lanes. She was wrapped in a brown coat, and her neck was coiled a long, purple scarf - a contrast for the dull, aged hue of her skin. Bright blue eyes looked up at him as she rang her little bell on the wooden stick. "Could you have a heart and donate any spare change?"

L blinked, shaking out of his fantasies. It was just a charity woman, standing next to a money bucket. Was it some holiday? Christmas wasn't until next month, and he couldn't think of any other major celebration in Moscow that would call for donations. He was a blunt person, so he regarded the old woman and asked a simple, "Why?"

She was undaunted. "It's the Kira collection. I'm an old and frail woman, you see, and I used to be afraid to walk the streets alone. Moscow has never been the most safe place to live. But ever since Kira, it's been different. The innocent and weak don't have to be afraid anymore... so in the springtime, I'm going to use this money to plant flowers in Kira's name."

Plant flowers? In _Kira's_ name? L stared, didn't realize he was staring. His thumb was in his teeth, the pressure grinding into his skin until he finally noticed how painful it was. Did people really think that this eighteen year old boy was their savior? L positively believed that a world ruled by fear was an evil one. So why wasn't this woman afraid? He pulled out the finger and shoved the hand into his pocket, exiting the store with his purchases and not uttering another word to anyone. She and Light were the crazy ones, not he.

* * *

It was all going from bad to worse. 

Light had a difficult time telling if he was asleep or awake. He lay in the bed, clasping cold fingers onto the thick comforters, but he never stopped trembling. Periodically he had to force himself to his feet and to the bathroom where he threw up a solution of chemicals and somewhat digested solids into the toilet. If he ever managed to fall asleep in the bed (or on the floor next to the toilet for all he knew) he was sure that he must have dreamed about emptying his insides even further, until he was certain that there was nothing left to retch.

And then he threw up again.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, he thought hollowly as he climbed back under the blankets, panting from even such minor movements. It might have been a nonsensical thought or it may have been rational, but all he could think as he exhaled painful, scratchy breaths was that he was going to die.

He thought he saw Ryuk's grinning face, and when he called out to it, he realized it was a hallucination. But the words _don't expect to go to Heaven or Hell when you die_ rang as clear as bells in his ears.

* * *

"Light-kun?" L softly called as he entered the room, shutting the door with the _click_ of the lock behind him. His tone was not soft because he was avoiding the disturbance of whatever slumber the sick adolescent had acquired. No, his tone was soft because L was bitter and was trying not to yell. Perhaps a little bit discouraged, perhaps a little bit spiteful. Maybe even vehement, no, downright livid. "Light-kun. I have chicken soup for you." 

The teen wasn't answering, or moving, and with the thick blankets covering his slim figure it didn't look like he was breathing, either. L stepped over to him, pulling down the blankets to reveal Light's face. And what he saw was surprising to even the well experienced investigator: Light's lids slightly parted, revealing dull, colorless eyes. It was a visage of compressed wretchedness. L's fingers darted forward to the sweaty surface of his skin, drench in perspiration, and found that the forehead was burning like a torrid ember.

"Hey..." the weakest of moans whispered its way through Light's pale lips, a protest against being touched.

L removed his hand. The bitterness that submerged his thinking twisted painfully, and was prodded to distortion. He swallowed this, though it was far from dissipation. With a ghost of a smile he said, "Light-kun isn't dying, is he? This would be bad news. Checking you into a hospital risks getting your false identification exposed. It's your choice, though."

He tried to look into Light's eyes, to study them with the same mutual connection that they had always shared, but they were hazy and unfocused. The adolescent blinked slowly, before finally whispering, "Just aspirin."

L nodded, feeling a peculiar wrenching in his stomach. He went to the sink to get Light a glass of water, as well as a couple of the pills that Light had bought him earlier. Three aspirin hopefully wouldn't make the brunette throw up, though that seemed to be fairly inevitable (L deduced this from the sickly acidic smell in the bathroom). After this, he went back to the bed, awkwardly holding the cup in one hand and the pills in another. "Can you sit up?"

The adolescent struggled to obey, but his clumsiness lead L to winding the arm that cupped the pills around his back. He pulled him up himself, skillfully preventing the water from spilling. He then dropped the aspirin in one of Light's shaky hands, which in turn brought it to his mouth. Light didn't seem to be able to hold the glass of water on his own, so L put his hands on top of Light's to reinforce the grip.

"Drink it all, Light-kun. Dehydration will worsen the condition. It could be said that the water is more important than the aspirin, which is merely a pain-reliever..."

When the task was finally complete, Light fell back into the sheets, shivering uncontrollably.

L called the room services after this and he ordered another blanket to be brought up. No, make it three. Cheesecake, too.

"This is all your fault, Ryuuzaki," a quiet mumble sounded from the limp figure.

_I know it is,_ L thought to himself. It was his fault that Light was sick by ninety-two percent, only ninety-two because being out in cold air, drinking foreign water and sleeping without blankets had something to do with it, too. But this was still a good thing. This still gave him time to think, and to plan, without worrying about his death. Whether he felt guilty about it or not... was frivolous philosophy.

The day passed, and the room was silent, though not literally so. The sounds of Light's incessant coughing and sneezing filled the room, as did L's television, or the ruffling of newspaper, or tapping of the keys on his laptop computer. But even so, the atmosphere was hushed. That night L fell asleep sitting on the chair next to the bed that was now established as Light's. And then the next morning, nothing had changed.

Light wouldn't eat, claiming that he wouldn't be able to keep anything down. L chewed thoughtfully on marshmallows, watching the blankets move up and down in accordance to the brunette's heavy breathing. Finally, L logged on to the internet. After doing a quick Google search on infection symptoms, he said, "Light-kun? Do you have nasal congestion?"

"...Huh?" came the feeble response.

"Nasal congestion. I know that you've been coughing, sneezing, vomiting, and your eyes have been watering with irritation. I'm trying to determine if you're suffering a cold or if it is influenza. Being as the symptoms seem much more severe, I'm leaning toward the second, though it also could be twenty-four hour gastroenteritis. If you aren't cured by noon, I don't think that can be the case anymore."

"Oh."

"I should really go buy a thermometer. If your temperature goes above forty degrees Celsius, then you have to be admitted into a hospital."

"No."

"Light-kun..." L gave him a sideways look. "Which is more detrimental? The possibility that they check your identification and find it to be fake, or losing your life?" When Light didn't answer, he lowered his voice. "It would matter to Kira."

"Stop that!" With enough energy to gasp out such a forceful line, Light must not have been quite to the point of medical emergency.

"Ah..." L had been checking a few websites on his laptop, and he refreshed the page to his e-mail account. A new message had entered his mail box, from none other than the Interpol president himself, Howard Dressler. He clicked it open:

_L: In accordance to your wishes, we will be testing the thirteen day rule. The experiment takes place tomorrow, and I will tell you if the first criminal's life is terminated at that time. Also in accordance to your wishes, I will not tell you the names of the two criminals until after the experiment is complete. We... _The rest dragged on into Dressler's ceaseless requests that L appear at Interpol, and work with them in the flesh, or please at least call Howard.

"What is it?" Light mumbled questioningly, watching the thoughtful detective with skepticism through blurry eyes.

L studied Light, and then shut his laptop without closing any browsers. A plan formed in his conniving brain. "Nothing that you need to worry about, since you're sick. I would prefer that Light-kun simply rest and concentrate on his recovery, if he doesn't want me to have him hospitalized."

That set the bait.

L switched off the lamp, indicating that it was time to go to bed and Light shouldn't argue. An argument would be useless. He wanted Light to act out instead.

* * *

_Tick, tick, tick._

At 12:01 and fifty eight seconds, Anton Gates was pronounced dead. The whole ordeal had been thoroughly recorded with fourteen video cameras, capturing every angle of Gates and the man who was his killer. Thomas Lindstrom, a self-declared terrorist, wrote the name on a tiny scrap of the Death Note in a separate room where he did not hear or see anything. Or know anything. He was told to study a photograph of the man he did not know and copy down the letters of his name, and then in thirteen days he would have freedom. But now Anton Gates was a carcass, dead from heart attack.

"Jesus Christ," Diane Wittlinger declared with something between horror and morbid fascination. "The bastard is really _dead_. We recorded everything, Gates's heartbeat, blood pressure... that fucking heart attack. There's no reason why it should've happened. Came out of nowhere!"

"We need to confirm that no one except for us knew about Anton Gates or the experiment," Akiyama Takahashi stated levelly. "We have to be sure that it was linked to the Death Note only."

"Akiyama, I promise, no one knew except for us." Diane shifted her weight, but didn't take her eyes off of the monitor screen that offered a view from each of the cameras. "No one knew, I made sure of it in my department. Even if his name was on television in Florida ten years ago, it's entirely too coincidental that he should finally die the moment we choose to test it. And Lindstrom, no one even knows his name except for the people he killed, and they aren't talking."

"Fine." He was also lost in his thoughts, staring at the dead man on the monitor that security was beginning to unstrap from the execution chair. This 'Death Note' thing was real, absolutely real. Akiyama had never been so completely intrigued in his life, and he wanted to learn more. He _would_ learn more.

* * *

Light awoke in a cold sweat. The visions from his dream, however, weren't leaving his head. He could still feel the hard leather that strapped him down to the chair in the execution chamber. He could still feel the glare of the cameras on him. The whole world was watching, every family was sitting at their television, watching _Kira_ die. And then there was L, holding a syringe that contained chemicals intended to clog up his bloodstream and stop his heart. L was smiling, and said, "_This is justice, Light-kun_," as he stepped forward, the silver needle reflecting the dull light of the chamber... 

But L wasn't anywhere. Light scanned the hotel room, and it was empty. A surge of relief filled him once he had convinced himself that he was still in a public hotel and not a prison, but just as quickly, that relief vanished. L was gone. No matter how deep in depression that bastard was in, he would_ never_ stop hunting Kira. He had made that quite obvious. And what better time to hunt than when one's prey is immobilized?

Desperately, Light scrambled out of the blankets and on to weak legs. The act of standing up brought a wave of dizziness to his head, and as he stepped he thought that he might faint. But after gritting his teeth, he made it over to the second bed, where L's laptop lay closed but not turned off. The adolescent recalled that the detective had read some e-mail last night, but just by his tone, Light knew it was something to do with the Kira case. And if L thought that Light wouldn't have the willpower to stand up and find out what it was, he was tragically mistaken.

In L's e-mail inbox was a letter from Interpol, freely labeled. Howard Dressler... that name sounded familiar. The president of Interpol, of course. Quickly Light clicked, and he scanned... _L: In accordance to your wishes..._

"Oh, no..." It came out in a choked whisper.

He had known that it was only a matter of time before the thirteen day rule was tested. He just thought... they'd wait until L... did what? Found his identity? Ludicrous. No, L was supposed to die on that day, and in that distraction the rule was supposed to have been forgotten about. None of the police wanted to kill criminals with it, and if the deceased was the only one... then, it should've been perfect. It should've been _flawless_. It should've been, but it didn't work out that way and now they were going to find out just who Kira was! They'd be coming for him, but he could hardly move, and L, L god damn it, it was all L's fault!

Feeling faint, Light stumbled over to his coat that hung on the wooden chair. Holding on to the frame for balance, he dug into the pocket. His hand touched the blade of the knife, slicing his finger slightly, but he felt so dizzy that he hardly noticed. He gripped the handle of the blade and pulled it out.

Light made it back to his bed, collapsing in it. His trembling hand still held the knife, and he hid it under his pillow.

* * *

L returned to the hotel after a phone call to Dressler. Dressler had confirmed to him that first criminal was dead, at exactly forty seconds after the second had written his name. This mean that the Death Note was legitimate. As an investigator, L was relieved. He had half expected to find a Kira that could murder simply with his mind, so it was reassuring that they needed this tool to go through with it. 

Upon returning, he knew that Light had read the e-mail. The laptop was turned at a slightly different angle than when he had left. He had expected this. Now Light would undoubtedly be on the edge and therefore now was the time to move in for the kill: the confession. Light would never confess under normal circumstances, of this L was fairly certain. But circumstances were no longer typical.

"Light-kun," L greeted, approaching the bed. "Have you slept well? If you're feeling better, we should try to get you to eat the soup. Light-kun said himself that food provides the energy to become healthy again."

"I'm not feeling better," Light answered dully, rolling on his side to avoid confrontation with the detective.

"Ah." L pulled up his chair next to the bed, stepping onto it and lowering his weight into a crouch. "Would you like aspirin?"

"No." The voice wavered slightly. L's detective instincts sensed a masked paranoia. This was a very good start.

"Judging by the look on your face, the fever hasn't gone down. I'd say we're at a sixty percent chance of influenza. It would be responsible of me, for your father's sake, to take you to a hospital."

The adolescent spoke quickly, too quickly for normalcy. "I don't have influenza. I'm fine."

"You just contradicted yourself," L said, taking reign of the conversation and intending to lead it to the place where he wanted it to go. "But if you're feeling better, we are going back to Japan."

"What? Why?" Light couldn't hide the chaotic fear that distended in his eyes. "But what about-"

"My journey can wait. I wasn't in my right mind when we left, and I've recovered. Light-kun should be with his family now, with his father and mother and sister. It was negligent of me prioritize my personal desires before the necessity of the Kira case."

The trap was springing. L knew that Light knew, or else he wouldn't have said anything. Because Light had definitely read that e-mail, and they both knew the unspoken consequences. Interpol was working with the Japanese police and they were testing the thirteen day rule. This was the only rule that had granted Light his freedom, and upon returning he would have to be placed under surveillance during the trial period. And then when the rule was proven false, because L _knew_ it was false, Light would be locked away again. Yes, this was bound to happen sooner or later anyway, but L had no genuine intention of returning to the Kira case in Japan yet at all. If this had been his plan he wouldn't have set up this plot, he would have just left and Light would have followed. All he wanted was the confession, the slip in words, the same thing that he had wanted for months upon months. And when Light just stared at him with wide-eyed fear, L prodded him along. "Light-kun looks reluctant... is there some reason why he doesn't want to go home?"

"Shut up, _L_."

The simple words grazed across L's patience like sandpaper. Light never called him 'L', it was always 'Ryuuzaki'. It was cocky and insulting for Light to call him anything else, because Light was not L's friend, he was Ryuuzaki's friend. They both knew that. "What was that, Light-kun? "

"I said, _shut up_!" Light snarled. "It's your fault, all of it is your fault! So don't you come here making demands from me, because I don't owe you anything!"

_My fault! _L couldn't explain it - he was suddenly furious. As was his way when he was angry, his voice became low and steady, something dangerous. "Throwing travel expenses aside, this is a bizarre thing to hear from someone like you. If blame is applicable, it's only on the one who got us both into this mess in the first place."

"And what are you implying?"

"Surely Kira knows exactly what I'm implying. He is, after all, a genius." L was suddenly filled with an astounding realization: _he wanted to place blame. _He wanted to place blame for Watari's death. A blame for not being human enough, a blame for not having a name. He wanted to place blame for this obsession with the same one that he wanted to blame. He _knew_ that feelings like this were counterproductive, but right then, L did not give a damn. "It's _Light-kun_ who started this whole mess with his dysfunctional ideals and murder weapon, because he can't see reality!"

Light flushed with untamed fury. His fingers were no longer resting limp on the blankets, they were in the air and curled into maddened fists. "You think that I'm the one who can't see reality? You're the one hiding behind ten feet of concrete at any given time! You may know everything about politics and economics and every goddamned country in existence, but that doesn't mean you know anything about _people_!"

"And _you_ know about people?!" L was on his feet, the chair being kicked away behind him. "What would someone like you, who is nothing more than a righteous teenager, know about people?"

"I know that people _like_ feeling righteous, if they are Kira or L or the followers! You said so yourself, you aren't much different than me. If you know anything about people, you would know that everybody _likes_ believing in something!"

There was Light, on his damned pedestal. Like a poet who tried to - no, did captivate his audience, the longer he was able to recite. L loathed poetry and the people, like that old woman from the grocery store who put faith in such ultimately ineffective dogma. That woman, that idiotic woman who was going to _plant flowers in Kira's_ name. Kira was just another murderer, because anyone who kills independently is a murderer. L believed this because the law was the only way to assure a mechanical order...

_Mechanical..._

"There's one difference between us though," Light continued. His passion had given him the energy to rise up on his knees, like a lion about to pounce. "I have faith in humanity. You don't. Just like I have faith in my name, Light Yagami... and you don't, Lawliet!"

_Y-you... Lawliet...!_

L hardly knew what was happening, except that he was glad he had very little self-pride or he might have dirtied his conscience by attacking a sick person. But as it was, he was on the bed, feeling the wrathful blow of Light's fist on his jaw. His own foot clobbered into Light's chest, hitting the younger male against the headboard of the bed. Light grabbed his ankle with one of his hands, ripping it away, and jumping forward to tackle L. L kicked again, throwing Light back a second time. The raven-haired male jumped and collided with his opponent, trying to knock the other down on his back and pin him. Light had one hand tangled in L's as he struggled for another punch, and the other hand was behind him pressing on the mattress, stabilizing his position.

Light was heaving painfully. The heat in his cheeks, L remembered, wasn't from anger alone. No, the brunette's body was exhausted and suffering with fever... but his eyes weren't. They glared up at L with pure, raw hatred. They were orbs of bloody hostility.

L leaned his weight forward as heavily as he could, and he gained ground. The feverish mass murderer didn't have much fight left in him. (And this was all L could think about... he had to win, he had to go for the pin, he had to be righteous, because if he wasn't, then he would have to think about things he did not want to think about.) Something in Light's expression flickered, and L tried to interpret - desperation? frustration? submission? fear? - but he didn't have the time. Didn't have the time because at that moment, the unexpected occurred.

Light slammed his upper body forward, his head meeting L's and his lips crashing against a second pair. It was ferocious and wild, his tongue thrusting into the detective's mouth which was unhinged in surprise. Defiantly despairing, a kiss of attempted dominance.

_Alright, Light Yagami._ The fight wasn't over.

L met Light's tongue with his own, rising up to meet the declaration. Soft skin crushed violently against the other, gnawing teeth met like a clash of swords. There was a warmth, a bloody and perspirating sort of warmth in Light's mouth, and L aimed to defeat. There was no doubt in his mind that he was kissing Kira in addition to Light, and there was no doubt in his mind that such a being was only destined for downfall. But the most invigorating part was that Light desired his downfall as well, and they fought on the battleground of obsession.

The raven-haired youth snatched at Light's wrists as their lips were locked, but he only found one. Taking it prisoner, he twisted it and leaned forward to bend it behind Light's own back and secure it in place. A hiss escaped through Light's mouth, though it was muffled by the warring discrepancy of tight-lipped osculation. He could feel the tension ripple in his opponent's slim muscles, and he conjectured that Light's other arm was moving. He opened his eyes which had somehow slid closed during the act, expecting another punch, but Light's hand went around his face. And L saw what needed to be seen:

A knife.

It really was no surprise that Light had managed to find himself a weapon during the times that he had been out of the hotel, though L had tried to avoid such a situation. As it was, the knife was behind his back. He could practically feel the cold tip of steel against his shirt, and he knew that even if Light was weaker due to illness, the adolescent could easily rip the blade through his skin, his muscle, sliding between bones. In such a case, L would probably die, if not from the first stab, from the second, third, fourth.

But in an act of faith, L kept kissing Light. Daring him. _Kill me, Kira, for I am L. Kill me, you child, kill me if you think that you can._ Challenges that he had uttered daily to Light. _Confess to me, Light Yagami. I think you're afraid to do what you really should do. I think you're afraid of seeing the truth of what murder is. I want you to know the truth. And I want to know the truth, too._

_Kill me so I'll know that I was alive._

Light was shaking.

Upon realizing this fact, L's harshness became sudden anguish. It was true that Light didn't want to stab anybody. This was true, and along with that so many other things were true too. Watari was dead because Light was shaking, 'Lawliet' was a mask because Light was shaking, it was all going to pieces now. So slowly, gently, L ran his free arm up along Light's, taking it in his fingers. He lead a cold wrist away from potential murder, taking care to never once touch the knife, not to give any indication that he knew. He stretched Light's arm up in the air, and pushed forward against his body...

As they both fell onto the mattress, Light let the knife slide out of his fingers behind the headboard of the bed. L saw this, and he heard the _clunk_ of metal against the wall as the weapon fell, and then the floor, but he pretended that he did not. He pretended that nothing happened so that Light could pretend, too.

Because that wasn't a worthy ending to their saga.

They lingered a moment longer, and then just like that, the moment was over. It was over because Light turned his face away from the poisonous kiss and fell into a fit of painful coughing. He covered his face with his hands as he convulsed, as if trying to block out everything away from his wretchedness.

"Light-kun!" Immediately L slid off the bed, going to the table to grab Light's glass of water. He gave it to the adolescent and helped him drink, which mostly dissipated the coughing fit. L then pulled at the blankets of the bed, which had been reduced to a messy heap during the fight, and covered Light's shivering body. When that was done, Light lay down in silence. L again pulled down his sleeve and felt Light's forehead with his wrist, and for the first time, Light didn't protest. The surface was as deplorably hot as it had ever been, a burning mess of sweaty brown bangs and fiery skin. And for the first time, he almost regretted that it was his fault. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Light answered automatically, and with his energy gone his voice was again a murmur.

L sighed and stood up, turning to look out the window. He gazed out of it with the same detached intensity that he gazed at his computer monitors, taking note of every detail. It wasn't snowing anymore. In fact, he could make out blue skies behind the gray clouds that dotted the atmosphere like ships in a great blue ocean. Maybe by tomorrow, it wouldn't be so cold, either.

"How did you know that my name was supposed to be 'Lawliet', Light?" L finally asked. He knew it was ironic that whereas Light at never denied his accusations, he had never flat out affirmed them either. But here it was L making the confession, he confessed the name and he confessed that it was a useless piece of data.

"Huh?" Light looked up at him. L was still facing the window, but he felt Light's eyes brush against his back. He could sense the uncertainty. "It was only a guess, because you reacted strongly when I read it out of the Death Note that day..."

"Ah. So I did."

They didn't speak again for the rest of the day. L had nothing to say as he helped Light swallow aspirin and drink more water, had nothing to say when he helped his companion to the toilet to vomit again. He couldn't give any explanation when he filled a bowl with warm water and washed Light's sweating face with a towel. He had no 'good-night' to offer when the sun had finally set. He simply lay staring at the back of Light's head, those long strands of disarrayed brown hair, realizing that he was reluctant to accept everything that he didn't understand. This was why the shock of the existence of Shinigami made him fall from his chair in fright. This was why he couldn't believe that he didn't have a name. No, the fact that names, simple words and sounds had the power to kill was also something he didn't want to accept.

He didn't like having beliefs like Light did. So he stared at him until he finally fell asleep, hating what he did not understand, and feeling crestfallen because of it.

* * *

The next day, L finally could get Light to eat the chicken noodle soup. He waited until Light was soundly asleep before he went back to the grocery store to buy some more. The day after that, Light didn't throw up a single time, and was even able to sit up and talk. Not that they talked about anything in particular. The day after that, Light was pacing restlessly around the room. 

"You still have a fever," L commented, looking up from his laptop. "The most efficient way to reverse that fact is for you to relax."

"It's fine. I don't really want to wait here any longer, Ryuuzaki," Light answered, his hands pressed against the glass of the window as he stared outside. "It's too depressing to sit in one place too long with nothing to do. It reminds me of high school, when I didn't have to pay attention so I never did, and I would just..."

"Think about things," the raven-haired youth finished quietly. "It's too much time to think about things, isn't it, Light-kun?"

"Yeah. I guess it is."

"Light-kun?" L felt overcome with some emotion. All of the sudden his mind was racing with recollections, about how he was always picking the most challenging cases that Interpol requested of him so that he would obsess over them. Always dedicating every waking moment to trying to understand some criminal mind, because he didn't care to think about his own mind. Always feeling dead until the exhilarating moment when he had to fear for his life. "...Could you call me 'Lawliet'?"

Light turned around and met his eyes. There it was, that level of understanding that there were no words in English or Russian or Japanese or anything to describe. It was just there. _We're not so different, you and I._

So L booked plane tickets to France for the next morning. Early that next day, they packed up their meager belongings and checked out of the hotel. They stood outside the airport on a white sidewalk, but no snow fell from the skies. There was nothing but clear blue skies, so clear it was almost tragic because it was destined to snow again tomorrow. L supposed that the philosopher would call him pessimistic, but he was nothing but practically minded.

"Ryuuzaki... Lawliet..." Light hesitated in ambivalence. L was the greatest detective in the world and he knew what was going through the brunette's mind: Kira, Interpol, the knife, the investigator, Misa, and the declaration of justice. He paused, and then his slender hand raised and rested with friendliness on L's shoulder. Then he smiled, a thing that radiated with warmth, even after everything and standing in the cold. "Let's leave Russia behind."

It would snow again... but they _could_ run away from the snow, for a little while at least. Frivolous, pointless, useless, yes. But imperatively necessary. L nodded and he found that he was smiling a little, too. "Yeah. Let's leave Russia behind."

He wasn't friends with people. He did not make friends. People were full of lies and deceit - he knew this because he was also full of lies and deceit. He and Light hadn't exactly been friends, because that was a facade like everything else, and they both knew it, but...

_Dasvidania, Russia._

For now maybe they could pretend a little, and exist in stride and similar rhythm. Their percussion would be the pounding drums of a heartbeat and the chiming of bells in the sky, and not the ticking of the clock. They had to pretend, otherwise how would they _ever find the truth? _And even if it was just a game, Light and Lawliet could act as friends. And that would be... nice.

Of course L knew that it was inevitable that somehow, someday soon they would part ways. He also knew better than to hope that it would be painless.

_To Be Continued . . ._

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

1. Sorry this took so long... I was before managing a chapter or two a week, but this passed week was ... surprisingly busy. Friends, parties, writing a few other fanfics, recovering from the emotional trauma that was the final anime episode of Death Note, oh my.

2. Light was indeed suffering from influenza. This can be transmitted through blood, feces and ...saliva. Hm, now how did this happen, Light-kun?

3. I apologize for the long length of this chapter. I charted out for sure what I wanted to accomplish in this episode and then... it took a long time. Sigh. Please take this opportunity to criticize me.

4. _Dasvidania_ - 'good-bye' in Russian.

Thanks again to everyone who is keeping up with this strange fic, you are all wonderful. -Serria


	8. Escaping Convictions

**DESIDERATUM: Chapter 8**

Disclaimer: Death Note is still not mine.

**ESCAPING CONVICTIONS**

* * *

The difference between _then _and _now_ was more than an interval of ticking seconds. The flying, mechanical vessel that they sat in was leaving something greater than just Moscow. All L could deduce was that to some extent, they were also leaving reality behind in the frigid Russian winters. 

The plane was rumbling through the atmosphere, and even though L had graciously given Light the window seat, he was content. To think that he had been very near dying a few days ago was far-off and as distant as the snowy ground far below them. Even the clouds, which when standing on a street or even in the upper level of a tall building were high and ominous, were remote entities now. The dark-haired youth could have been completely satisfied, except now he was having second thoughts about giving Light the better seat.

"How are you feeling, Light-kun?" L asked, craning his head to stare at his companion. "Are you going to vomit again?"

"Thanks for reminding me," Light answered with unhappy disgust, putting a hand over his mouth.

L didn't really see the problem. Light wasn't the first or the last person in the world to have a fear of flying combined with the remnants of influenza. Airplanes were a well established institution, and they already made all necessary preparations. So L, softening his voice slightly in hopes that it would sound comforting (not his style), said, "It's all right. These airlines invest in motion sickness bags for a reason. You shouldn't be so shy to use one, because that would demean their purpose, as well as render the investment a waste of money."

"Hey, Lawliet?" Despite L's encouragement, Light's face twisted as if submerged with a new wave of illness.

A small smile tugged involuntarily at L's lips at the sound of that name, especially when it was spoken from those particular vocal chords. "Yes, Light-kun?"

"Shut up."

* * *

_Tick, tick, tick. _According to his clock on the wall, which announced the time in Japan in addition to the time in California, now would be an appropriate time to contact Soichiro Yagami. 

Akiyama Takahashi had been charged with the responsibility of direct communication with the Japanese police, because of everyone at his own Interpol building, he spoke Japanese the most fluently. That was the official excuse anyway - as far as Akiyama was concerned, _he_ was the one now in charge of the Kira investigation. He wasn't the head of ICPO's fusion task force for nothing - he was damned capable and he knew it, and he intended to prove to Howard Dressler that real people were better investigators than mysterious computer programs like L.

"Good afternoon, Yagami-san," he said, speaking into the monitor after the direct connection was accepted. "At least, it should be afternoon in Tokyo by my reckoning."

"Yes, it's two in the afternoon," the tired old cop said. Akiyama had heard that Soichiro had had a heart attack once already, but as a result from stress from the Kira case instead of Kira himself. Personally, the man seemed like a blundering idiot to him, and this was no great surprise. "I don't know where you are, but good afternoon as well, Mr. Tetsuya."

"Wonderful," the Interpol representative said, and thank God, the damned obligatory small talk was over now. It wasn't pleasantries that would deliver him the killer. "On to business. I read through all of the police files that you sent. All of the members of your unit seem to check out clean. You've already had one officer directly die during investigation, correct?"

The older man raised thick eyelids at the statement, and his dark eyes flickered with something - probably regret. "Yes. It was during the Sakura TV incident. He died of a heart attack when he tried to enter the building."

"Right." Akiyama paged through notes he had taken, stapled together in a thick report. He had a very vague report of what had happened between the cops and L, as well as some not-so-vague statistics. "Was this before you all acquired fake identifications?"

"No, L made us get them from the start."

"Then, please excuse me, your investigation is clearly not as secure as you think it is. Are you sure that you're in a private building? Kira obviously knew the real name of Hirokazu Ukita." It was a little exasperating. He could understand why L must not have a lot of faith in this circus of fools that was the Japanese unit.

Soichiro Yagami narrowed his eyes, a crease resulting in his aged face. It seemed as though he had taken offense at the blunt comment. "We've taken all of the necessary precautions. L himself had no way of knowing that Ukita-san would die, if Kira needs a name and a face."

"Hm. In which case, I'm going to have to agree with the theory that Kira is definitely connected to the Japanese police somehow, just like L suggested in the first reports that he sent us. It seems that someone in the agency, or who is very close to the agency, must be Kira. This would explain why he knew Ukita's real name." Akiyama felt a headache coming on, but he clicked his pen and began to write.

"That's not it!" Soichiro insisted. "L investigated the possibility of a second Kira, one that can kill with only a face!"

The Interpol representative froze, and slowly looked up from his notepad. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he asked harshly, not bothering to exert the effort it would take to censor himself.

The man was glaring at him through the computer screen, not appreciating his foul language. "These were L's deductions. We have yet to find any concrete evidence, but L believes-"

"God damn it!" Akiyama snarled, slamming his fist down on the counter beside his computer. Could this be bad for _him_? He had shown his face out in public on a number of occasions. If Kira had run across him somewhere, _especially_ when he was in Japan, he might have noticed that he had been using the false name of 'Seijuro Tetsuya'. His own days could be numbered, all because of these idiot cops! He took a breath. "All right, Yagami-san. Thank you for telling me this. But please understand my concern. Even if there is a second Kira, the fact of the matter is that _one_ of the killers _is_ connected to you. L expressed concern directly to us, when he requested permission to use the FBI to investigate you all privately. How else would Kira have been able to access police databases?"

"I... I suppose he could be a hacker," Soichiro suggested pathetically.

In his abhorrence, Akiyama was almost overcome with the urge to take his handgun out of his belt and shoot the old man between the eyes. Unfortunately, that wouldn't accomplish much aside from destroy his computer monitor. "Even so. I'm supervising over here, and I'd like to also investigate the police and everyone connected to you. I'd also like to speak to each of your members personally: Shuichi Aizawa, Hideki Ide, Kanzo Mogi and Tota Matsuda. Oh, and your son, Light. If you would please arrange it?"

The old cop's eyes suddenly widened, and a vein bulged in his forehead. "Light _can't_ be Kira," he said with fierce conviction.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Akiyama answered, "At this point, I'm assuming that anyone connected to your unit _could_ indeed be Kira. And honestly, I'm curious as to why your son was deemed trustworthy enough by L to engage in such a supposedly secret operation. You said before that he was smart. Hell, let me talk to him right now, because with the people that I've been dealing with up until now, that would be a damned nice change."

Again, Soichiro was looking murderous. "My son is not Kira! He was already investigated once by L, and it was determined that such a thing was impossible. It's true that L's suspicions are why Light was initially working with us, but they've been cleared."

That was a reasonable explanation, he had to admit. He had been guessing that this was the case, ever since he met the boy. "Fine, then. I want to talk to him, anyway. He might know better than anyone what L is looking for in a Kira. Is he at school right now?"

A pained expression filled the man's features. "He... Well, yes, I suppose. He's not currently in the investigation unit, he's taking a break from it to concentrate on his studies."

That was peculiar. "Either way, I'd like you to set up communication. His cell phone number would suffice. I..." And then Akiyama hesitated. "Yagami-san, what condition rendered suspicion of your son unfounded?"

Soichiro paused. "I'm not sure how much information L wants leaked out of our own unit-"

"_Yagami-san,_" he growled in a voice that was dangerously low. "Please do not fuck with me. L practically works for us, and in all the time that you've been allowed to privately investigate, nothing, _nothing_ has come up. This mass murderer is still on the loose! I am not saying that your son is Kira, what I am saying is that I need to know everything that I can to capture the bastard!"

"Thirteen days," the old man said. There was something in his face that made it clear that things between he and the Interpol agent were now at a mutual hatred. "Light was cleared because Kira needs to kill every thirteen days or he will die."

That would fit puzzle-piece perfect if Thomas Lindstrom didn't die at the end of the trial period. A highly intelligent boy, the son of the police chief, and already once investigated by L? Admittedly, even if the thirteen day rule was false, it wasn't conclusive. But this was a lead and damned if Akiyama wasn't going to take full advantage of it.

* * *

"Attention, please. We've arrived at the _Roissy Charles de Gaulle _airport. The local time is four thirty-four. Please gather all of your belongings. Attention, please..." 

The intercom voice that shook into Light's slumber was foreign - an English speaker with an established British accent, so prim that it was almost robotic. He breathed out with a soft groan when it had finished its announcement and meant to sleep again, only to be interrupted three seconds later by the same voice speaking French. And then Russian... and then what sounded to his sleepy ears like Spanish. At that point, however, he had settled back into sweet dozing, and he stopped fully registering it.

"Light-kun, how uncouth of you to fall asleep after the intercom just told you to get the hell off their plane," the drawling voice of L - or Lawliet, rather, filled his ears. Long, skeletal fingers touched his shoulder, brushing on top of the Russian coat he had been using as a blanket.

"Mmm..." Light curled into the thick cloth even more tightly. "That's not exactly how she said it..."

"That's how I would translate it. I believe between the two of us, I alone am the one who is self-sufficient among a multi-linguistic community." L spoke critically, with a hint of suppressed amusement. "I know that you are only about seventy-five percent healthy, but you can rest again in the hotel."

"I knew the _English_," the younger insisted, but he opened his eyes and yawned. His head was still muddled, but it was indescribably marvelous to know that the plane was safely on the ground and they had completely stopped moving. "Why didn't she say it in Japanese, I wonder?"

"Are you really asking that?" L had already zipped up his bag, as well as Light's, and he stood up to wait for an opening in the rapid trail of people moving through the aisles. "No one cares about Japanese except for Japan. We're far away from Japan now, Light-kun. We're a thirty-five minute ride on the train rails out of Paris, France."

"Paris!" Light repeated, feeling much more awake now. He stood up, ignoring the annoying feeling of blood rushing to his head, and followed L down the aisles between the seats of the plane. As they walked, at a much quicker pace than their last plane ride, the brunette spoke. "I can't believe that we're in Paris. It's one of the most significant cities in the _world_, as far as history goes."

"You shouldn't believe that we're in Paris, because we're not yet," L commented, glancing backwards to make sure that Light wasn't lost in the pushing and shoving of the ferocious crowd. "I told you that. We're going to take the train to actually get into the city. I reserved a hotel already, so since you've never been to Europe, please just follow me closely."

"Oh, right." Light concentrated on following his companion. They exited the tunnel that connected the plane to the airport, and they trod through the congested lobby area.

Lawliet spoke again, but this time in English. "Also, my name is François Ames. I am French and I do not speak Japanese."

Light laughed out loud. He also switched to English, but didn't even bother trying to hide his Japanese accent - on the contrary, he flaunted it teasingly. "François, you said? I suppose you have the identification for that, too. Why do you always have to pretend to be native, wherever we go? Why can't you just be a foreigner, like _me_, instead of acting like you were born here?"

L didn't answer right away, he just lead Light through the lobby and weaved through gaggles of tourists and other obstacles. When they were out of the docking bay, L spoke, though he didn't look at his companion. "Because I _was_ born here. My original birth certificate is French."

The teenager's eyes bulged in disbelief. He couldn't avoid the sore feeling that suddenly clenched his throat, trying to ignore the fact that a few weeks ago he would have given an arm and a leg for that kind of personal information. Was this another test? That _wasn't_ what he wanted to think about right now. "Why are you telling me that? If it's even true..."

L shrugged, and then he did look at Light. There was a slight smile on his face, crookedly garnishing his expression. "It's true. I'm eighty percent indifferent as to whether or not you know that. Fifteen percent of me felt like revealing that to you."

Light's jaw tightened, just for a moment, as he realized the unspoken words: _my name can't kill me anyhow, so my actual identity is useless._ When L looked away, he noticed how rigid his movements had become, in stiff defense of that insecurity. Maybe this was why they were in France. L was looking for his identity, so shouldn't he go to the place he was born? The brunette was overcome with the urge to break the following silence. "Is your ethnicity French, too?"

"_That_ would be telling," he answered with a smirk, but visibly brightened.

They continued walking. They reached customs, and underwent the tedious trials of convincing security of their innocent traveling intentions. Using careful English, Light said that he was just a tourist, and yes, his name was Ray Misora and he was from New York City. When that was finished, he walked through a metal detector to find L already waiting for him on the other side.

They navigated through the vast airport, down hallways and elevators. L went through the money exchange to take out a thick stack of Euros, the currency of this area. The gangly youth stopped at a vending machine to purchase a bag of cheap, artificially-flavored strawberry cookies, offering one to Light (who denied), and then they were on their way to the train rails.

"Hey,_ François_..."

"You can all me 'Lawliet' anyhow," L said with his mouth full of pink cookie crumbs. He swallowed, only to stuff another one into his mouth as a replacement. "I don't mind if you still do."

The words were extremely detached, as if he was entirely apathetic to the whole issue. Discreetly, Light verified: "You sure? Even in public?"

"If you want to." And what that really meant, Light could tell, was that _I want you to. _

In circumstances where a pair like them had the opportunity to actually say what they meant, what would they say? Light wondered briefly if that room would be silent, the only sound the ticking of his wristwatch. Honesty was a dangerous virtue.

The train ride was enough to distract him from such somber thoughts. They ran into the car to claim seats, side by side. They fought briefly for the window seat when L claimed that it was his turn, however Light shoved forward anyway and said that since he had never been to France before, it was fair that he was closest to the window. (And then L claimed that he too had never been to France, but Light was sitting and told him to say what he wanted, there was no way in hell he was moving now, and besides, L was lying his ass off.)

Paris was an alluring place. It wasn't like many parts in Tokyo, where buildings were erected for purposes of practicality with the most modern of technology. Instead, here in the heart of France, there were the things that existed purely for the sake of beauty. In fact, it seemed like every work of construction was created with a sense of art in mind - a sort of disregard to perhaps issues like economics and logic, there were things that didn't make sense at all in a critical eye. But likewise, if one gazed through the eyes of a romantic, everything was beautiful.

Lawliet caught Light's attention, only after jabbing him in the ribs. "_Parlez-vous français_?"

The brunette resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and instead answered swiftly, "_Oui._"

This clearly wasn't the answer that the detective was expecting, because he blinked with genuine surprise. "_Je ne te crois pas. Tu comprends?_"

Grinning cheekily, Light responded, "Ah... _oui_?"

L huffed in annoyance, turning his head away as if he suddenly was the more mature one between the pair. "Light-kun is a liar, as expected."

"_'He whose slate is clean, let him cast the first stone_,'" Light quoted in retort a biblical passage that he had learned in his English class. "Seventy percent of what you say to me isn't true. Besides, you know perfectly well that I don't speak French. You know what classes I took in school better than I do. You were simply being arrogant by flaunting the fact."

"I was not being arrogant," the raven-haired youth insisted. "I should think that it would be arrogant to assume that one is not knowledgeable, instead of politely inquiring. Also, I only lie to you about sixty-two percent of the time, please do not be dramatic."

The train came to a halt, and again they underwent the chaos of maneuvering through aisles, congested with people wearing the gaudy, flashy colors of tourism as well as dark, ominous business suits. Even with the tremendous amount of people, the grand French streets seemed unclogged and inviting.

"_Bienvenue a Paris_, Light-kun," L murmured in his ear. "That means 'welcome to Paris', since you don't speak French."

"Ah, thank you for that," he said sarcastically. They walked on further out to the street and Light inquired, "What hotel are we going to?"

"The _Sofitel Le Faubourg_," came the answer. "I've stayed there before. Don't worry, they have good cheesecake."

He snorted. "Well... good, all my anxiety has been put to rest."

"You should be excited instead of being anxious, you know. Anyway, it's quite a few blocks away from here. If you have yet to deduce this, Paris is an intimidating size. I'll call a taxi."

It seemed like a shame to hide inside a vehicle while having experiencing the opportunity of a lifetime. Light shook his head. "What if we just walked?"

The detective quirked an eyebrow in skepticism. "It'd take us approximately two hours to walk. I don't know if you'll be able to handle that journey, considering your current state of health."

"I won't die. If we get tired, _then_ we can call a taxi." When L still looked doubtful, Light turned away and added, with a mock sympathetic note to his voice, "Well, if you're too tired for walking, you could just say so, Lawliet."

The element of competition lead to the quick response: "It's only you who I was worried about. We'll walk, and don't whine to me if you tire out."

Paris had a particular smell, Light noted. However, it was hard to identify in words. It could have been the baskets of roses that littered sidewalks, even though the air was chilly that aroma filled the atmosphere. It could have been the gentle smells of breads from shops with open windows. It could have been the people, walking from here to there and going somewhere else right after. It could have been the faint smell of gasoline from the cars and the buses, but even that smelled different from the vehicle exhaust in Tokyo.

"_Kira nous sauvera tous!_" a voice suddenly shrieked.

The hair on Light's neck lifted as he turned to see a group of young people, college students perhaps, standing on the other side of the road with looks of determination. They stood in the crowd, brandishing large white signs. On these signs in large, black print were phrases such as "_Kira est un héro"_, or "_La justice régnera!"_, and then perhaps the most obvious one to a non-French speaker, "_Kira!_". Backed up by their passionate yelling, it was clear that they were engaging in a pro-Kira rally.

L turned his gaze to the students with their signs as well. He narrowed his eyes, and then glanced at Light. Almost defensively, he grabbed the younger male's arm roughly, and pulled him along. "It's all in French anyway, so you don't understand," he muttered, as if that changed everything.

The brunette was about to ask, _and what does 'Kira' translate to in Japanese?_, but the urge to not touch that issue was far more overpowering. He already had enough of a problem with Interpol testing the thirteen-day rule, the last thing he needed was to be openly battling the most conniving detective in the world. If he pushed his luck, L's insecurities about not having a proper name might dissipate and Light would be in handcuffs before he could say "_au revoir_".

Even so, it was a warm, much-needed comfort that some people all around the world were truly beginning to understand Kira.

"Light-kun, are you hungry?" L asked, interrupting his thoughts - probably on purpose.

"No," he answered.

L pressed on. "You've lost weight, since you were so sick. Your physical defense will decrease by fifty-four percent if you don't eat something soon. I don't mean to imply that Paris is a dangerous city, but there are occasional occurrences of muggings, especially to those who are _clearly _tourists."

Ignoring the remark that was probably meant to be a cheap shot, Light raised an eyebrow. "How about you just tell me if you're hungry instead of creating an elaborate scenario?"

"I was only looking out for Light-kun's well-being."

"No. Lawliet? Just _tell_ me what you want."

The detective frowned, almost uncomfortably. Then, he grabbed one of Light's hands and yanked forward, turning to walk again. "I know where there's cake."

The _Le Templier de Montmartre_ was a cafe, albeit an upper-class one, with wooden chairs and small, round tables lined up neatly outside the entrance. A chalk-board menu declared what must have been the days specials right by the door in French that Light could not understand. He was, however, familiar with both Latin and English, making some words such as '_salade_', '_chocolat'_ or even the declaration of '_Restaurant'_, which declared itself on a cloth draped above the windows, quite recognizable. All in all, it was a comfortable place, with tiled bricks on the walls and warm colors that invited guests of all ethnicities and languages.

"What are you hungry for?" L inquired when they had stepped inside the establishment, which, though not busy, was starting to acquire a dinnertime crowd.

"I don't know," Light shrugged without much enthusiasm. "I'm not very hungry. Some kind of soup, and a Diet Coke."

"_Soup_?" L exhaled as though his companion had just tried to convince him that the universe was centered around the Earth instead of the sun. "You should eat something more substantial than that. Also, I refuse to order any soft drink with aspartame posing as sugar."

"I'm not hungry for anything else. And I don't want to eat snails, or something else weird."

The detective sighed, giving Light a rather sympathetic look, as though he pitied him. "And for dessert?"

"None. I don't care for heavy sugar. Even if we are pretending that you haven't yet learned my eating habits from a year of spying on me, as well as having me handcuffed to you for months, you might have deduced that when I told you to order me a diet soda."

"Are you weight conscious like Misa?" It was an accusation more venomous than anything Kira related.

Light rolled his eyes. "No. Regular soda is too sweet for my liking. Diet pop tastes crisper to me, and I prefer it."

L gave him such a look that Light half expected him to say that his Kira suspicion points had just gone up... but he didn't. Light didn't initiate saying that word either. It seemed to be a mutual agreement between them to avoid that issue. Instead, the lanky male turned to the cashier.

"_Bonjour!_" the cashier, a pretty French girl with blonde curls said. She was looking directly at Light, smiling sweetly, but L cleared his throat to get her attention and said,

"_Bonjour. Comme hors-d'œuvre, je prendrai fondant au chocolat amer... Aussie, je __voudrais le crème de petits pois..." _

At least, Light assumed that the words were polite. Ever since the incident with the Russian news reporters and the false criminal, he had become a little reluctant to make any hasty conclusions when it came to languages that he did not know.

A few minutes later, they received their food. L had apparently ordered chocolate cake for himself, which reeked of sugar and frosting, and a pea soup for Light. Some brown, bubbling drink was splashing in a glass on the tray, and whether or not it was a diet soda was still unknown. If it stayed true to L's sugary threats, he might have been irritated, but his mood was lifted because it was a really nice day. They went outside on the patio, claiming a wooden table and its two chairs. It was probably winter in France, but there wasn't much of any snow at all. The grass along the streets was still defiantly green, even in the chilled air. The sun was out, only a handful of clouds to rebel against the radiating warmth.

"So... Lawliet..." The name still felt somewhat foreign in Light's mouth. The way that L had pronounced it, it almost sounded like a Romanized 'low-light', which was eerily similar to his own name. It was almost funny, except Light didn't know whether to be amused or to be afraid.

"So, Light Yagami," L asked in a sarcastic mimic of his own unsure voice. He certainly wasn't hesitating to bring the fork to his mouth, and was unperplexed about sticking out his tongue to lick away soggy crumbs that missed their target on his lips.

"What are we doing here in France, anyway?" Light finally asked, a bitter little chuckle finding its way out of his throat. "I was thinking about last year, or maybe closer to two years ago, when all I cared about was school, and trying to find some way to dissipate boredom. And suddenly, in a dramatic turn of events, I'm in Paris."

"That's why you did it, huh?" L turned his dark irises curiously to Light, without turning his face from the direction of the cake platter. And then, as if catching himself in perhaps an honest slip, he quickly added, "Joined us on the Kira case, that is. Worked with us as hard as you did."

Light took a breath, trying to find some composure that his face wasn't void of but that he didn't have, anyway. Then he said, "When you feel like you're wasting away, it's nice to find something to do that's beneficial to humanity. You feel like you have a reason to exist."

"Of course. Punishing crime, a criminal that is, that might be beneficial. It's true, isn't it." It was a murmured sentence, genuinely cloaked in broadness. It was uncertain and awkward. "Anyway, Light-kun shouldn't worry about that now. He should concentrate on ridding himself of the last of his sickness."

Light blinked, and then nodded quickly. "It's my code of ethics that keeps me worrying."

L stabbed his fork in his dilapidated cake, looking as though something was bothering him. He pushed the silverware forward, successfully netting a piece of the saccharine dessert. His attention seemed entirely preoccupied in studying the moist chocolate pastry, as he very carefully seemed to avoid releasing too many of his fingerprints on the utensil that he held with only a thumb and forefinger. Then, cautiously, he said, "Light?"

Light turned his head to the detective in inquiry. "Wha - _ugh!_"

With the speed of a coiled snake biting, L had taken advantage of Light's open mouth to plunge his fork inward. Still without even facing his companion, he reached his other hand over to close the youth's unhinged jaw, and then slid the fork out empty of the cake it once held.

The chocolate burned sweetly on his tongue, but his lack of desire for sweets wasn't outweighed by the shock of what his enemy had just done. "Goddamnit, don't do that!"

Oblivious to Light's startled flushing, L spoke in a particularly detached tone. "We're here because we're having an adventure in France. I won't ask your opinion because I do not care, and in this case my opinion doesn't matter either. I do not feel like doing detective work right now, especially not about the Kira case, and in our current positions the whole issue is irrelevant. Are you willing to play along with me, or do I have you force-feed you cake?"

It was all so ludicrous, so damned ludicrous that Light was suddenly laughing out loud. Neither of their opinions, their views on justice mattered. They were just _here_. They wouldn't be saying it. They would conveniently ignore that truth. _I'm Kira, you idiot. And you're still L. At any moment, one of us might be dead._ And oh God, it was funny, the way they were closing the door to reality. They were trying to escape the inevitable, and what is more entertaining than that?

L's eyes now looked a little less dark, and his mouth curved upward a little into a smile. "It's better when we're laughing, don't you think?"

That made him laugh even harder, until he was shaking his head in a sort of defeat as opposed to disagreement. He managed to choke out, "It is, isn't it?"

"Good. Then we've reached an understanding."

Light grinned, gaining composure of himself. He lifted the soda glass, and raised it in salute. "Cheers, Lawliet."

"Ah. Yes." But the man was suddenly adverting his gaze, as if by not looking at his companion, he was an invisible entity.

The carbonated liquid met Light's lips, high dosage of one hundred percent sugar and all. "You bastard," he growled, slamming the glass back down on the table. "This is _not_ diet."

* * *

Diane Wittlinger reached Akiyama's desk with intrigue contorting her face. She lowered her hands down onto the oak furniture, leaning forward to get the attention of the man who was furiously typing up some report. 

"Hey."

Akiyama didn't turn her way. "Diane. Get me a squad of CIA agents ready to go to Japan by tomorrow. I'm going to search that damned island, top to bottom."

The woman raised an eyebrow, studying him. "The CIA won't want to do that. They're pissing themselves at the thought of Kira, just like the FBI is. And I assume that's the only reason you want to employ them. It's not only criminals that he's murdered in the past."

"Pay them more. Tell them we'll fire them if they don't." Akiyama was not a man of sympathy. "The fact of the matter is, I've got a lead. There's something suspicious here."

"Oh?"

"Light Yagami. He hasn't been at his college for a long time. I can't find him anywhere in Tokyo. He's not at his parents' house, and there's no apartment registered in that name. This kid had been previously working on the case, too. Isn't this odd?"

Diane wasn't usually the voice of reason, but she felt obligated to say, "That doesn't mean much. He was a suspect of L's, right? Maybe the pressure was overwhelming, and he's taking a vacation. Be more delicate, Akiyama. This is the police chief's son, and you should be getting on that man's good side. Arresting his son with no real proof doesn't qualify."

"Considering the enormity of this particular issue, I'm going to take every hint that I have very seriously. No, it isn't conclusive, Diane. But it also won't hurt us if we pursue it. I want to find out just who exactly Yagami's son is, and if there's a mistake then I'll apologize."

It was as easy as that.

* * *

L had assured Light that the hotel was getting closer. Evening was approaching, and though Light wasn't about to say anything, his lungs were beginning to hurt with the congestion from his not-quite-cured sickness. He held his breath to keep from panting, and instead continued to distract himself with the monuments that they passed by. 

Paris was the heart of France, and the heart of Paris would have to be the river Seine. No, perhaps a more accurate description would be that it was the arteries of Paris in the way that it winded through the city with its life-giving water. Being a city next to a river wasn't a necessity in this day and age, but now it too was a source for tourism. _Bateaux-mouches_, long boats that scattered at the shores of the riverside offered tours for a price along the river that passed by such famous attractions like the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre and the Notre Dame.

They crossed the bridge known as _Pont-Neuf_, reaching the other side where L had promised their hotel would be. Along the sides of the Seine river were numerous benches, filled with evening life. This evening life was, overwhelmingly, pairs of people shamelessly making out. The seats were littered with such public displays of affection, that Light thought sourly that it ought to be punishable as public indecency. In fact, now that he looked, not one of the occupied benches held anyone who _wasn't_ clearly doing more than holding hands.

And, as if on some obnoxious, clueless cue, L said, "Why don't we take a seat, Light-kun? You look tired."

"I'm not tired," Light responded hastily. "Let's keep going."

"Your statement sounds suspicious to me. Your face is all flushed and your breathing has accelerated, so I believe that you're lying."

"It's not that," he answered, hoping that he wasn't actually blushing. How naïve was this supposed 'best detective in the world', anyway? And for heaven's sake, his breathing had _not _accelerated. "I'm perfectly fine."

"I'm not."

"What?" Light asked, turning around.

"My ankle hurts," L said calmly, his dark eyes revealing no answers. "There's a fifty percent chance that I sprained it on _Pont-Neuf _bridge. I want to be sure that it's okay, so if you don't mind I would like to take a short intermission."

Light stared, looking down at the man's foot. Sure enough, he had his weight focused on a single left foot, and the other was raised slightly to avoid pressure. "Why didn't you tell me? Did you trip?"

"Clearly, Light-kun. Ankles do not sprain from normal walking." L cocked his head to the side. "You were walking so rapidly in front of me, you must not have seen. I didn't think it was so bad at first, but now it feels worse. So may we sit?"

Feeling guilty now, Light nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. You could have just said so instead of being so evasive about it."

The detective smiled, a very controlled twitch of his lips, and Light offered him a shoulder. He wrapped his arm around his back, and together they approached an empty bench.

They sat there for a few minutes quietly, and Light sighed. The river Seine was beautiful, yes, but for some reason all he could think was that it kept _flowing by_. Every loose twig or leaf that floated on the surface, it was carried away and it would never return. In the quiet, all he could hear was the _ticking_ of his wristwatch, in time to the beat of the river.

And every second that ticked by was another second that he was vulnerable, without a proper plan to retaliate against Interpol and dispel suspicions that would possibly be raised against him.

"What do you think it is about rivers that creates a desire for lovers to osculate?" L asked casually, in reference to the many lovers kissing nearby.

Light was startled out of his thoughts, and caught his breath in surprise at L's boldness. Then he shook his head. "I wish I knew. This is practically criminal."

"Light-kun doesn't enjoy the marvels of kissing? I'm reluctant to believe such a thing, because he has had, according to my records, seventeen separate partners."

The brunette stared at L. "Where are you getting your information about my personal life? Excluding Misa, I've had twelve girlfriends. But it's been twenty-three girls that I've kissed."

"What!" This seemed to unsettle the acclaimed world's-greatest-detective, and his wide owl eyes bulged with exaggerated awe. "Ah, well, it seems that even my sources can be off."

They were silent for a minute, as Light wondered who the hell his 'sources' were while watching the river flow by. Then something else began to flow - a realization in Light's head. "You're a liar," he said incredulously, with slight irritation. "You made that up that data, just so I'd tell you how many girls that I've actually kissed."

"Correct." Now the detective looked smug, giving Light a sideways glance. "Twenty-three, that's quite formidable, Light-kun. It appears that I underestimated you."

Light shook his head in disbelief. "You're crazy. ...Hang on, it's only fair that you tell me how many girls, or people for that matter, _you've_ kissed."

"Why should I tell you? Life's not fair. If you wanted to know you'll have to trick me, like I did for you."

Again, Light shook his head, exasperated. He rather expected that the real answer would be... well... _one_, because the detective was as antisocial as they came. And he didn't think either of them would ever actually bring up those two _incidents._ So he said, with an air of arrogance, "That's okay, I'm not that interested in anyone's love life except for my own."

The gangly youth immediately retorted with a, "That trick will suffice. I've kissed five people."

"What?" Honest surprised submerged his being. "Five? _Who_? I mean, was it serious?" Only after the words came out was he aware that he probably sounded like a gossiping schoolgirl. Or Misa, who he wasn't sure had ever been a schoolgirl.

"'Who' is entirely irrelevant. No one you know, indeed I assure you that I didn't participate in any questionable acts with the task force. People who I grew up with. It was curiosity alone that drove me to such initiation, though to be honest I found the ordeal mostly dull and far too extended. I experimented with different people, different times of day and at different ages. I tried all variables, but my results were unexciting and insignificant."

"So it is Lawliet who doesn't enjoy the marvels of kissing," Light concluded with a smirk.

"Were _you_ overcome with ecstasy while engaging in that act?" L asked with apparent honesty.

Because the question seemed genuine, Light paused to think out a genuine answer. "It's something to do, I guess. I've never been in love. When I was younger I used to pretend that I was, and that I was overcome with passion or whatever. But no matter how I tried, it always ended up being entirely physical."

"I see." L nodded with a simple bob of his head. "If not entirely kissing, did the more sexual acts please you, then? Is that why you pretended?"

Light gasped and stared at the detective for being so blunt. "We're in public, talk appropriately!"

"Why? Who's watching? The ones who are very near engaging in more sexual acts themselves."

He didn't know how much more of this aggravating man he could handle. "Listen, there's more to it than just that. When I was in high school, to be honest I was kind of depressed. I felt half-dead, like I was just floating through life. For awhile I thought that if I was in love, or at least pretended enough, then that would make me feel more alive."

For whatever reason, L didn't answer right away. His charcoal eyes locked on to the river once again. "Yes, I also believe that passion is what makes people feel the most alive."

They were silent as they watched the river go by. Light was carried into deep contemplation. Floating substances in the river, even the longboats as they navigated by, they did so at a steady, unyielding rate. He found himself counting off the seconds that were announced by his wristwatch. _Tick. Tick. Tick._ Time went by, just like the river. And the more he sat there, contemplating, the more he became anxious about what time was going to bring him. If he couldn't find away to kill Interpol's second criminal, which was highly unlikely, suspicion against him would once again rise. Every _second_ that went by was a milestone closer to downfall.

He had to find the answer. There was always an answer. In the real world, there wasn't an applicable mathematical equation that lacked a conclusion. In nature, all things made sense, so there had to be a way to solve this, too. Light had already wormed his way free of a hundred potentially detrimental situations. What were the facts?

One: Interpol was testing the notebook. There was no way that L would send them an entire notebook, because L wouldn't like the idea of trusting the government. Either way, this didn't affect him much unless he could ensure that the first experiment was a failure and they lacked the resources for a second try.

Two: Interpol shouldn't know about Light Yagami. It was true that when L first took on the Kira case, he communicated with the entire Japanese force. But when Light got the FBI involved, and then killed them to make them back right out again, the Japanese force had lost all trust in L. When L privately worked with the few members of the Kira Investigation unit, his research was theoretically confidential to anyone outside of the team.

Three: Even if they did know that Light was a suspect, what did that prove? There was no evidence that Light tampered with the notebooks (indeed he didn't, not directly anyway, that was all thanks to Ryuk). It was still possible that he was innocent. Interpol wouldn't take him into custody without proof… right?

But there was the fact that Light Yagami had disappeared from Japan. He was using a false identification and traveling around the world. Because Interpol wouldn't know about L, that would seem suspicious… well, he _was_ running, wasn't he? If they found out… would that be enough to convict him? Would the excuse of helping his friend Ryuuzaki be enough to save him from capture?

If L found the 'heroic intentions' that he needed… no. Aside from his real name, apparently, L wanted nothing more than to send Light to execution. Because L _knew_ the truth, and he was too stubborn of a person to let that slide.

"Would you stop worrying about things?" L suddenly said, cutting sharply into his pensive thoughts. Before Light could ask him what he meant, he said, "You look depressed. I'm guessing that Light-kun wishes that he had a lover right now to distract him like when he was younger, and follow suit with the other couples here. It seems that being in France isn't even enough for him to save him from himself."

Light stared at L, who was staring right back. Neither of them blinked, one surprised at the suggestive thing that was said, the other surprised that there was no retort to play along in the joke. When he tried to mentally explain what he was feeling, to Light it sounded completely ridiculous. There was nothing, everything, the river Seine and his wristwatch. There was Ryuuzaki, or Lawliet, there was Kira or Light or whatever, a jumbled mixture of thoughts that he didn't like but was morbidly curious about. Finally Light said, "Sitting still is the problem."

"I don't want to move yet. My ankle hurts." At that point, L paused, looking at Light as though he had a business proposition. "And since we have nothing better to do, and I'm feeling self-conscious around everyone else... do you have any better ideas?"

Did he really just say that?

The seconds that ticked on his wristwatch, that watch that still held a piece of a Death Note, suddenly they blurred together like drops of water. Tick, tick, ... tick... tick…..

It was ridiculous.

Why was he leaning forward to Lawliet? Why were his cold fingers lifting, his hands rising up toward his most deadly enemy? They rested hesitantly on his broad shoulders, as if to demand some kind of attention that Light didn't really want at all. Or did he? Was that the explanation as to why his face was next to Lawliet's, staring with eyes that weren't seeing anything except an inevitable death? What was he trying to accomplish here?

It was ridiculous.

Tentatively, Lawliet murmured, "It's okay. We're in Paris now." It wasn't a justification, it was a half-assed excuse because they were both confused and shared a common obsession. The warmth of Lawliet's cat-like tongue hesitantly met Light's lips. It brushed against them like a shy courtly gesture for permission to access the guarded area. Gently, the lips themselves locked on, but it was a careful movement, like walking in a field of land mines. One wrong step could lead to explosion. Any second they could be dead.

_There will be no heaven or hell for you when you die. You'll be nothingness, do you want that?_

Light didn't want nothingness. He didn't want to feel half-alive anymore, either. Maybe that was why his hands rose from Lawliet's shoulders and to the back of his head. Fingers curled around thick, unruly midnight hair, wrapping themselves intimately into his companion's scalp. Lawliet responded by tangling his own arms around the brunette, one pressing into the bones of his spine and the other claiming the back of his neck. Affirming this action, Light lessened the distance between them, parting his lips to let in the uncertain male. He slid his own tongue softly on top on Lawliet's, crossing the distance like a bridge over the river into the other territory. He explored it assertively but with caution, almost expecting his enemy, or whoever he was, to clamp down razor teeth and slice through his tongue, leaving him to bleed to death.

That didn't happen.

It was a thing of hesitant aggression - fingers clawed into the skin of the other, demanding it to submit and come closer. Contrarily, the sensitive skin of lips was uncertain, unsure, aware of the act. Aware that this couldn't be a rational action, this was probably unwise, but then the movement of the tongues inside vessels argued that it was irrelevant anyway. It was only because they had nothing better to do, and they were curious, and it didn't really matter. It was a distraction.

The closed lids of Light's eyes were what spoke the truth the most wisely. His upper eyelashes crushed into his lower lashes with determined, consented ignorance. It shielded his irises from the River Seine that ticked away the seconds of the time that he was running away from. Time ticked away everything - the rotting world, the lifespan that one had left, the good things in life that were destined to wither like cherry blossoms after limited opportunity to show off their beauty. Maybe this was the real reason why the benches by the river were crowded with lovers. When one is kissing, clutching onto something, one doesn't have to think about all the wretched things. They kiss by the river to _ignore_ the river, to ignore Time.

When it was over, it happened mutually. The tight grips of their hands weakened and released, and then their tongues found their homes and their lips released, too. Eyelids released their prisoners, and heads turned forward, systematically looking away.

In all of the times Light had made out with someone, there had always been something to say. Some thoughtful word of closure that he perhaps pretended to believe, even if inside he didn't. "Well.." he started awkwardly.

"It's getting dark out," L interrupted. "My ankle is fine now, so let's go find the hotel."

It was an immediate transition from that bizarre event back into reality. Wait, reality? This wasn't reality. At least, not the reality that Light was used to. "I thought you said that you sprained your ankle. It doesn't even look swollen!"

"Ah, so it doesn't. It appears I made a mistake." There it was, that smug look that he didn't even try to conceal.

"Oh, you _bastard_," Light said incredulously. "It was never hurt at all, was it?"

As if to arrogantly confirm, L easily stood up, stretching. "Let's get going, if you're still up for walking. I can call a taxi if I tired you out."

* * *

The _Sofitel le Faubourg_ was, quite possibly the most lavish tribute to embellished extravagance that Light Yagami had ever laid his critical eyes on. Certainly the Russian hotel had been ostentatious, and Tokyo also had very high-class hotels (such as the one that he had once hopped between every week with L before construction had been completed on the headquarters building). But just on the outside, this place looked like a palace. Stepping inside lead one to an establishment of impressive chandeliers and fountains, with fine mahogany furniture garnishing expensive rugs, just in case one might want to relax and enjoy the materialism. 

Though Light was unimpressed by such displays of wealth, he felt extremely under-dressed in his green sweater and khaki pants - which had once been nice, but the day had dirtied them, not to mention his uncombed hair... His paranoid side felt the hotel staff raise their noses at him as they wore expensive tuxedos and all looked as though they had showered just fifteen minutes ago. L, however, arrogantly clueless man that he was, bounded right up to the check-in desk, completely unconcerned about the stains and rips in his old white cotton shirt.

He said something in French to the lady at the counter, and Light recognized the name "Ames". The lady frowned as she checked her computer, and momentarily said something else. At this point, L's face turned toward Light, who raised his eyebrows questioningly, but L turned back and nodded in affirmation.

"What's that about?" Light asked after taking on the of room keys they had been offered, as they headed toward their room. "Didn't they have your reservation?"

"The idiots just messed up, that's all," L answered, pointedly walking in front of Light. He did not elaborate, so they continued to walk.

When they reached the correct room (number 118), Light wondered briefly just how expensive the room was. It matched the same rich quality that was present in the lobby. Velvet red curtains draped over a large window. A glass coffee table sat next to a mahogany couch, right by a small table with complimentary coffee packets and chocolate mints. It was true that Light had spent the last few months of his life living in extravagance, as seemed to suit L's exquisite tastes, but even so he felt somewhat out of place. He spent a moment appreciating the fineness, before he realized the problem.

"There's only one bed," he said out loud with irritation. So _that_ had been what the hotel had messed up on. Sure, it was a large king-sized bed, and he had slept with L straight during the handcuff period... but that was something that he did not miss.

"Yes. I know that you hate how I take the blankets at night, but don't worry because I've already ordered you a cot."

"What? I have to be in the cot? You don't sleep anyway," Light accused. "And I'm still suffering minor influenza. I should get the bed."

"Precisely. Light-kun will inevitably fall into a very deep slumber wherever he chooses to rest his body. Because I will likely be somewhat awake for a considerable portion of the night, it's fair that I receive the greater comfort."

"What do you have to miss out on?" Light challenged, taking it a new direction. "You've been to Paris before, and you've stayed in this exact hotel. Therefore you've already had the opportunity to sleep in the bed. I haven't, therefore it's _fair_ that I'm rewarded this experience."

"Rewarded?" L stared. "The way I remember it, Light-kun, these travel expenses that you are consuming come from _my_ salary. I bought this hotel room, for the next few days everything in it belongs to me. You should be grateful that I'm offering to order a cot for you! My economic situation isn't infinite, and the more logical, conservative choice would be to have you sleep on the floor."

"To hell with _that_," Light shot back. "You should instead feel honored that I chose to come with you on this 'adventure'. There's a thousand things that I could be doing if I were still at home, such as, oh, going to college, but instead I chose to keep you company. You should be thinking of me as a guest instead. And what a rotten host you are if you're going to be greedy about the resources."

"You? A _guest_?" the detective said incredulously. "There's a particular period of time that can't be surpassed that a guest can impose upon hospitality, otherwise the alleged 'guest' loses his privileges and status. I've been feeding and housing you for months, so I say its time you pulled your own weight."

"Feeding and housing me? I was a _prisoner_! You had me handcuffed to you! I should damned well expect that you'd feed me and give me a place to stay, or I swear to God that I would've had you jailed for violating human rights. Sort of like how you are now!"

"Well... you aren't my prisoner _now_, so that's inconsequential."

They stood there, glaring at each other, fingers tightening into fists. They could have been spurting out flames from the magnitude of wrath in their scowling faces. Light tensed, tightening his muscles just in case L wanted to resort to a wrestling match to determine the winner as opposed to rhetoric competition. The detective's teeth were gnawing at his lower lip, and Light noted maniacally that if he were to punch him now, the teeth would dig right into sensitive skin.

Then L moved. Light immediately raised his fists in defense, only to find that "moving" was running away. The detective scampered away, and the brunette choked back a laugh. ...Only to find that L's destination had been the king-sized bed. He sprang on top of it, spreading out his limbs as if he were hugging it tightly and possessively.

"Lawliet!" Light yelled furiously, running forward. "Get off of my bed!"

"You're deluded. Not an aspect entirely uncharacteristic of Light Yagami, though!"

"Tch! I'm so damned tired of you and beds!" With that, he jumped on the bed, viciously grabbing L's ankles. He had every intention of dragging that lanky bastard off.

But when he began to pull, the unexpected happened. Instead of being met with the force of resistance, L had sat up and pounced forward. His slim, yet hard muscled body slammed at full force right into Light's chest. Light was forced to relinquish the ankles he held due to the awkward position of suddenly being on his back. His head was dangling in the air beyond the stability of the mattress, and he craned it forward so there would be less leverage if he were to fall off. L, with a smug look bedecking his features, grabbed on to his shoulders to keep him down.

"Light-kun is either still quite sick, or not quite as strong as I previously thought," he commented with a superior air.

That did it - he sure as hell wasn't going to give in to that bastard now. Light relaxed his body for a second, as if in defeat. Then, like a canon ball exploding into freedom, he lurched forward and twisted his weight sideways. Because L had only been holding onto his shoulders, the detective toppled off as Light rolled out from under him. Immediately, Light crawled to the middle of the bed and sat up so as to be in a strategically logical position and prepared for whatever L might next throw at him.

Which was, again, his entire body. For being thin and gangly, L could have been an America football player, his body was like a merciless missile. He tackled Light, though Light had shifted his weight as to save himself from some of the blow as well as avoid another pin. Immediately he curled his legs inward, and sprang them forward right into L's stomach - a kick that knocked the offender backwards.

"One for one," L declared vigorously, and then smashed his own foot forward into an unprotected ribcage. The raven-haired youth then realized that his foot wasn't returning him, and the surprised look on his face was exaggerated and comical when he must have taken in that Light had grabbed it.

"Surrender yet?" Light asked with a wry smile.

Wide, dark-rimmed eyes blinked. "I suggest that we open ourselves to negotiation."

Light laughed out loud then, all previous irritations released, and he let go of the ankle and laid down on the blankets. The detective followed suit right next to him, folding his hands behind his head in a make-shift pillow. They laid there, side-by-side, smiling and chuckling under their breaths. Inwardly they both knew that such an obsequious fight was only to distract themselves from the truth.

_In reality, there will be no negotiations._

The brunette knew this, and he found his mind wandering in that direction. In reality, in the world of Kira and L, one would lose, and that meant death. A heart attack from a Death Note, or execution by lethal injection, or perhaps other creative means. In reality, they weren't fighting over something so menial as a stupid bed that neither actually cared about in the first place. In reality they were pitching Justice against Justice, and only one was right: that would be the one who didn't die.

L broke the silence. "It looks like we'll be sharing a bed again, right?"

"Just like old times," Light responded with a note of irony. "But if I wake up in the middle of the night without a blanket, I'm going through with my threat of having you jailed for human rights violation."

"Hm, well, I'll send you back to your father then." At saying that, L's face turned to Light. "You should call him."

"My father?" Light asked, not to clarify his hearing but because he didn't understand why L was suggesting it.

"I'm certain that he's been worrying about you. Call him and tell him you're okay."

Immediately, Light's mind fell again to paranoia - if he contacted the Japanese police, he might be asked to return to Japan during the thirteen-day trial period.

"That's not what I meant," L said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"The thing that I think you are thinking. I wasn't scheming anything. Yagami-san loves his son more than anything. He deserves to know that he's okay."

Light nodded after a brief moment. "I'll call him sometime soon."

"Yes, within the next couple of days, please."

_Tick, tick, tick._

It was suddenly as if the fever had never left, because Light was drenched in a chill. Of course, it was nothing that didn't know - in a few days, Interpol's second criminal would not die of a heart attack. L knew damned well, Light knew damned well. After those days, if he called Soichiro, he would be asked, no, commanded to return to headquarters for further investigation. And Light didn't know what to do about that. He couldn't think of anything to do, short of breaking into Interpol files and finding out who he was, so he could kill him himself. But break into Interpol? That was impossible.

Because at times like these, Light Yagami was only human. It was a sin that he didn't know how to forgive. The world would be even less merciful.

If Kira lost, then Kira was evil. Only if Kira won, would he be righteous. It's the victors who choose what goes into history books, after the seconds start ticking again.

"Light-kun is thinking too much again..." Five bony fingers touched his upper arm, rather awkwardly but in an attempt at comfort.

Light sat up. "Not really."

Lawliet also sat up, and gave Light a peculiar look. He pushed his weight forward on his knees, so that he was behind Light. Two slender palms landed on Light's back gently.

"What are you doing?" the surprised brunette asked, turning around.

"No, stay like that," the other insisted. "I'm going to give you a massage. I'm good at that." Upon those words, his thumbs pressed into the skin on his back, circling between the shoulder blades. His fingers joined in soon after, biting like the fangs of a cat into the ruthless knots. "There's a lot of tension built up back here..."

"Ah..." Light tried to hold back the little moan as L worked into his tight shoulders. "Ryuuzaki, ah, Lawliet, you don't have to do that. Please stop."

"You're tensing up even more. It works better if you relax." His hands worked their way in, starting out more cautiously but becoming more fierce as the seconds ticked by. Fingers pinched into his neck, circling around some strained muscle.

"Unh!" Light squeaked out. It was a pathetic sound, and he blushed because he knew it was. He must have adjusted to the soreness that he had carried (probably ever since he picked up the Death Note), but now that Lawliet was challenging the rigid muscles, it all shot out agonizingly. "Ryuuzaki, I mean, Lawliet, you don't… ah… it's okay, I don't even feel it."

Lawliet must have misunderstood, because he applied more merciless pressure, like cutting like knives through a jungle of vines on his back. "Can you feel _this_?"

"Ah… yes, but it _hurts_." He hadn't meant to say that either. Stupid, stupid. He was _Kira_, why was he whining about some dumb back massage?

"Won't so much if you relax." Relentlessly, those probing hands continued their work, battling the knots in his back with expert skill. L was a man of many mysterious talents, if it was fair to call something so painful a 'talent'. "Actually, I'd like you to relax, Light-kun. When you're so tense, I get tense too."

That line surprised him, and Light forced out a small laugh. "So it's all for personal benefit then, right?"

"Say what you will," came the answer that wasn't really an answer.

Light tried to take the advice and sit very still during the torture, though he found that the more still he tried to be, the more he subconsciously tightened his muscles. He tried to think coherently, but now everything was a mess. Interpol, contacting his father and Misa, the thirteen days and _ugh_, Lawliet hit another spot.

But in a way, it felt good. It felt really good. Light just couldn't tell why.

After an undetermined amount of time, Lawliet's fingers slowed down. Light could sense the man behind him pause, and then stop altogether while still resting his hands on Light's back.

"If you're tired, you can stop," Light said graciously. "Thanks for going as long as you did. It hurts like hell now, but maybe in the morning I'll see that your labor has paid off."

"It will. Trust me." What a phrase, 'trust me'. It was empty and meaningless between a pair like them. Being in Paris now only altered the immediate circumstances. It didn't change reality. 'Trust' was nothing more than another blank game of pretend, for further investigative purposes. The games were always facetious, the ironic friendship was in name only, waiting for the chance to backfire and spit venom in the eyes of whoever slipped up first. Not even Paris could deny the fact that they both had knives aimed into the backs of the other.

_That day in Moscow, the only reason that I didn't stab him was because I would have been arrested in Russia. It had been a sloppy plan. No reason more._ A room where a pair such as them had the opportunity to be honest would be a silent place.

"I suppose I am kind of tired," Lawliet said softly.

Before Light could turn around, something new was resting on his shoulder - Lawliet's chin. The raven-haired youth's face turned inward to Light's neck, pausing, and then out again. But it stayed there, breathing out a little sigh, while Light felt himself tense up so greatly that he was certain that all of L's work had been undone. What was he trying to do? Was he the one wielding the pocket knife now?

Then, that feeling decreased, the frantic anxiety mutated into... something else, something almost comforting. He let him stay there, until they drooped over to fall into deep sleep.

_There was that time, and it felt like a long time ago. It was as though Light were looking back into a faraway childhood memory, even though it was only a month and a half in the past. Perhaps it felt so distant, because that was a time when he _wasn't_ pretending, and because of that L's guard also went down. It was all because for awhile, Light wasn't Kira, and L knew that, and they didn't need to hide the fierce feelings that they didn't have. _

_The long handcuff between the two of them had been a promise: Together, We Will Prevail. It tied their fates together as well as their separate intellects and skills. Sometimes, when working with immense determination, they were a single entity. Together, they were the most fierce opponent that Kira had. (That's what they thought anyway. It later turned out that Kira outsmarted them.) _

_Beside from being an unshakable vow, the handcuff was also a source of annoyance and mild frustration. Light, who spent his life sleeping in his own bed, had very meticulous conditions for slumber: it had to be completely dark, completely silent, and without a single other soul in his room. That fantasy was certainly shattered when L hopped on the large bed next to him, muttering an apology about the handcuff, but he still refused to take it off._

_That night, Light had woke up, restless. No, something had definitely woken him up, because it was four in the morning and he was too exhausted to just snap awake like he did. Upon adjusting his eyes, he felt something at his side move, squirm slightly, in-and-out breathing. Light turned to see Ryuuzaki, fast asleep but curled up beside him, using his suspect's arm as a pillow. Awkwardly, Light tried to roll away without waking him, only to find that he was already at the edge of the bed. _

_And then he smiled, because what the hell. He tightened his arm around Ryuuzaki's shoulders. When the sun rose, it would be easy enough to forget that it happened. But until then... well, until then._

_-To Be Continued. . .  
_

* * *

Author's Notes: 

1. Special thanks goes out to Danielle Anderson, who not only helped me clarify my jumbled mess of ideas, she also helped me with the French (which I do not speak a word of.)

2. As for French translations, '_oui_' means 'yes'. There's nothing terribly important that readers shouldn't be able to pick up from context, but L asks Light if he speaks French (to which Light says 'yes'), and then he says something along the lines of "I don't believe you. Do you understand..?" Later, at the pro-Kira rally, the phrases are things like "Justice will prevail", "Kira is a hero", etc.

3. I didn't think this chapter would be so long. My outline was so rough, it was like, "Light and L frolic in Paris, make out, and also Akiyama develops specific suspicions against Light." Man, this is my longest chapter yet... by thousands of words. Oops.

4. Ah, also, though the places in Paris are all real... don't look too far into the accuracy of geography, please.

5. IMPORTANT: This marks the last chapter of the PG-13 nature. I've already been tip-toeing the line with all the f-bombs I've dropped, but yeah. As of chapter 9, Desideratum will have an 'M' rating. Reasons: excessive language, violence, yaoi, some dark themes.

6. Final words: oh my god, Harry Potter opens tonight! I'm there!

I'm a little nervous when I look at the number of people who have this story on Alerts. Flattered, but nervous. I hope that you enjoy it. :-) -Serria


	9. French Cantata

**DESIDERATUM: Chapter 9**

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. Yet.

Warnings: _This chapter contains yaoi._ The rating to this story is now '**M**' (for yaoi, violence and language). However, those who are not reading _Desideratum_ for its sexuality, I hope you can still enjoy. It's my intention that everything that happens does so with a symbolic purpose in mind, not just relationship development - personal development, too.**  
**

**FRENCH CANTATA**

* * *

It was not often that Light woke up before L. Circumstances were, however, strenuous. 

And Time was running out.

In early morning paranoia, Light presumed that L's back massage the night before had been another effort to relax him. No, it was not a friendly effort to alleviate his stress. It was definitely a passive-aggressive attack in its own way - L may be hiding his King but he was sure as hell still moving pawns across the chess board. If Light let L distract him, he would never be able to build a sufficient retaliation against the Interpol threat. And then, without doing anything in particular while still searching for the truth about his lost name, L would win.

Without glancing at the clock, Light presumed it wasn't later than five in the morning. The adolescent grit his teeth. L was curled impishly right next to him, and somehow in the night one of his arms had become entwined with Light's. L's raven black hair was sprawled messily around the pillow, an image that reflected his haphazardly placed limbs and twisted back. The only reason that Light could tell he was asleep was because of how much older he looked, breathing steady and eyelashes gently closed. The childish immaturity that otherwise radiated off of him when those eyes were open was dormant, leaving the truth of his age vulnerable and exposed.

Another truth was vulnerable and about to be exposed, and this one more unsettling: in a few days, the investigation would know that Kira did not have to kill every thirteen days. Not unless Light could kill the second criminal, but what were the chances of that? Sure, he could call Misa and tell her to target old convicts, captured ten, twenty years ago that the world might have forgotten about. But even if on the off chance that she _did_ strike the right name, it would have to be done at the right time. If the criminal died three days early, that wouldn't exactly disprove anything. Of course, he could tell Misa to write details of the death in the notebook - namely, the date that they were supposed to die. That could work, but there was the problem that writing each name would take three times longer if she did that. If they were just going to randomly guess and check convicts that Interpol didn't think Kira would kill, Misa would only have time to judge a third of them - thus decreasing chances altogether.

Furthermore, Light realized with a scowl, someone like L would easily be able to draw a conclusion from old, lesser known criminals suddenly being targeted. That would mean that Kira was panicking, and therefore he _knew_ about the thirteen day test. No one but Light and the investigation team knew that, and Light was, after all, the prime suspect. L would be only too happy to use evidence like that to have him arrested, so such a tactic would induce an undesired result.

_Damn it..._

Was there some way, any way at all to find the identity of the criminal? Light bit his lip, thinking rapidly. Interpol would not have even put that data in their computers if they were smart - which they undoubtedly were. It would be entirely a matter of eye witnesses. He could get in contact with an Interpol agent and blackmail him into exposing the name... but if the system as as tight-knit as he imagined, such a tactic would also have witnesses and surveillance, and that would be essentially gift-wrapping evidence that 'thirteen days' was false. ICPO's President Howard Dressler had been asked personally by L to not reveal the information even to him... could Dressler be persuaded otherwise? If Light took L's laptop, and hacked into his e-mail, could he write something convincing enough to undo that fact? Suppose L needed to know the identity of the second criminal for investigative purposes...

(L wouldn't have to know. Light could kill him first. The method didn't matter.)

But L would have thought of such a thing and made the appropriate preparations. L could not be manipulated in the same way that the NPA could, Misa could, or even the Shinigami Rem could. _L knew he was Kira_, and he also had no intention of losing - 'heroic intentions' or not.

Though, L had mentioned at the beginning of this journey that he never told Interpol who his prime suspects were. If Interpol didn't know Light Yagami's name... Not that this was trustworthy. L was a liar by nature. But there would be the chance that Interpol didn't know anything, and they were only following orders. When the second criminal didn't die, Light being Kira was possible. What would happen? If L intended to return to headquarters in Japan, he would probably be locked up again, or at least handcuffed to L. The judgments wouldn't stop unless Misa was also captured, but then again, if Light was the first Kira, Misa was definitely the second. She would certainly be apprehended...

_That's the scenario that must be avoided_. Light could only feign innocence as long as there was a Kira still active.

"Light-kun?" the sleepy voice of L sounded, interrupting his thoughts.

"What?" he snapped, trying to sound gentle, but it was a pathetic attempt.

L's dark eyelashes parted slightly, revealing eyes of the same charcoal shade. He paused for a moment, as if taking in Light's image, and then he said, "You should call Yagami-san. He's worried about you."

"Yes, I'm sure," Light responded with irritation. "And about you, too."

The detective's eyes were still clouded with the fog of sleep, but his voice was too detached - meaning that he was interested. "Is that so?"

"Well, yeah. That's the only reason he agreed to let me go after you." The adolescent was not in the mood for L's facetious tactics, using him with an ulterior goal in mind. "If you want to contact him so badly, how about we just go home now?"

There was a taunting hesitation as L responded. "Are you sure that you want to go back to Tokyo just yet?"

_Bastard._ No, as things were now, returning to Japan was a risk. Any move that he made was a risk, and at the same time, doing nothing was a risk, too. He was backed into a corner, stuck in the shadows without any answers to grasp at. Light stood up and rummaged in his bag for a sweatshirt. "I'm going to go call my father… or do you want to talk, too?"

"I'm still tired," L lied, rolling over in the blankets for extra effect.

Of course, when Light exited the hotel room with the excuse of wanting privacy with his father, it wasn't Soichiro that he called on his cell phone. Personal obligations could not take priority over Kira's reign - in fact, such a thing was possibly detrimental. He left the hotel entirely, walking out into a still-dark street that was lit by the golden lights of Paris. Even at this hour it was full of life, and hiding in a crowd he would shroud himself to achieve the only secrecy that he could.

"_Light! Light!_" a girl's soprano shrieked into his ear from the cell phone's speaker. It reminded Light of an excited songbird, an obnoxious chirping mix between despair and enthusiasm. "Misa has missed you so very much! She's so happy, so happy that you finally called her!"

"Misa, _quiet_," Light hissed, automatically his eyes flickered around the street for anyone who might overhear. "I'm not in a secure position, and I don't have much time. The instructions that I'm about to give you are extremely important. Please listen carefully!"

Even though he couldn't see her face, he could tell that blonde model was absolutely beaming. She seemed to hold back an vivacious giggle as she inhaled sharply in anticipation. "Of course. Your Misa is ready to do anything at all that you want her to do, so long as she can see her Light again very soon."

"Yes," he agreed blandly, making a promise that he wasn't sure if he could keep - though inwardly, underneath her powdered face and curled lashes, Misa probably already knew that. "Interpol is testing the thirteen day rule on the Death Notes, the one that granted us freedom. In just a few days, the criminal that they had write the name will be scheduled to die."

"But he won't!" Misa interrupted, as if Light wasn't fully aware of this already.

He took a breath to keep his patience. "No, Misa. He won't die. It-"

"Yes he will," the girl interrupted defiantly, apparently having changed her mind. "Misa will kill him. Even if we don't know who it is, Misa won't stop to sleep or eat. She'll just keep writing down names for Light, write down everyone in the whole wide world."

"_No._" Light might have shouted, but even at this early hour, Paris was alive with life. The last thing that he wanted was to draw attention to himself. "Listen to me, Misa. I need you to leave Japan. Keep on judging criminals, but get away. Mogi-san is your manager still, so tell him that you're going to go visit family in America. Tell him you're mourning the fact that I'm gone, so you're taking a vacation as a distraction. Once in America, keep on the move. As a celebrity that should be fine, right? If you could somehow get false identification..."

"I-it's fine, I can work something out," Misa answered nervously. "But how will I see you again? How will you find me?"

"Keep this cell phone, or get a new one with the same number. Never answer it though, not unless you receive a text message with a password - it will be the name of your Shinigami, and that will be from me. After you receive the text, I'll call and you can pick it up."

There was something like a whimper on the other end, and then a pause. Misa gulped loudly, and then she took a breath of forced confidence and said, "Okay! Okay, Light! We can do this. We're going to work everything out. Misa will do her very best with the judgments, and when Light is okay, he will join her. We'll be Kira together, okay? We'll make the world a better place. We'll stop all of the criminals, no matter what, and never will there be another girl like Misa who has to watch her parents get murdered."

"Yes, we can do this, but we'll have to be careful. Don't do anything rash," Light confirmed, putting some warmth into his voice. Then, as if at the crack of a whip, his voice was its usual calculating tone: "And one more thing, Misa. If you do get captured or you feel like you might, immediately give up ownership of the notebook to get rid of your memories. If you are able, hide the notebook in the same place I buried it back in Tokyo. Talk to Ryuk beforehand, just as a precaution."

"Oh," she answered thoughtfully. "That's the only way to keep me safe, right Light? Then if I get captured, I'll be innocent so they'll have to let me go."

_Not exactly. _"Yes, Misa. That's the only way to ensure that they don't hurt you." _That's the only way to ensure that you don't sell me out_.

He hung up the phone, sighing quietly, and immediately cleared his recent calls history. The more logical thing to do would be to tell Misa to give up her memories _now_ and bury the notebook somewhere that only Light would know. Then, if he ever got out of this mess with L, he could return to Tokyo and retrieve it. However, especially with Interpol so personally involved now, doing judgments himself would be difficult. _That_ would be a forfeit, just like L was forfeiting. If criminals weren't being judged, that meant that Kira was backing away.

And that was something that the Justice of the new world would never do.

* * *

_"Light-kun. You look as though you've lost weight. Are you doing okay?" L asked, pressing the button of the microphone that connected to the cell where Light lay on the ground, wrists and ankles bound. The detective found the situation frustrating, because it was Light who proposed it in the first place, leading him to think that this whole thing was an elaborate scheme. Now, however, criminals had begun to die again and the adolescent beseeched his captor to admit the innocence he didn't have. Or did he?_

_Light's eyes flickered up toward the camera, as if he were able to see L through the machine. He shook his head slightly, not to answer the question but instead to wake up from a dormant state of elongated inactivity. "I'm okay. Still alive. It's hard to eat with my hands cuffed, and I don't really have an appetite, so I guess it_'_s possible that I'm thinner."_

_"Ah... I'm sorry about that," L said easily, though the professional in him didn't exactly feel sorry at all. Even so, he smiled in jest: "If you confess you're Kira, I'll take them off."_

_"Are you joking?" Light asked incredulously. "I'm not Kira at all. I told you that."_

_"We'll see," the detective answered, meaning to end the conversation and observe Misa for awhile._

_But Light, who must have sensed this closure, quickly said, "Wait, Ryuuzaki!"_

_"Hm?"_

_"It's... well, it's kind of boring right here," the youth admitted. He forced himself upward to a sitting position, as best he could without the use of his arms or legs to balance him. "Nothing moves and nothing changes. How long has it been, anyway?"_

_"Twenty-five days." L didn't intend to sound rude, but he only felt it fair to add, "And I'm afraid that I'm still not ready to let you out, not tomorrow, not the next day either."_

_"I understand. But are you busy?"_

_L quirked an eyebrow. "Busy? I'm working, if that's what you mean, by monitoring you and Misa. It's night right now and everyone else is asleep."_

_"Oh. Then will you talk with me, Ryuuzaki?" Light was looking with a childish hopefulness at the camera, so childish - just like Kira. But there was no malice in his eyes, just mere curiosity and intrigue. _

_L was surprised. "About what?"_

_"It doesn't matter. Anything. If you aren't busy..."_

_So the conversation began. A conversation about nothing of substance, really. Several times L tried to slip him up into saying something that Kira might say, but it was easily evaded. Light talked about his family, his school, being on the tennis team. L couldn't exactly tell his prime suspect anything personal about himself, but he commented where he could. And it was… nice. It was more entertaining for both of them than just waiting, anyway._

* * *

Interpol was on the move. L, of course, was well aware of this, as he was the one who stimulated them in the first place. However, he was now beginning to regret that he had bothered to let Light in on this secret, because the days were running out and Kira was growing restless. His growing agitation was practically a tangible aura that radiated off of his tense body. If they had still been at the Tokyo headquarters, L would have definitely incarcerated him over the trial period. Here in Paris, he could have also contacted Aiber, who was already planning on imprisoning the mass murderer for him if necessary in his estate. 

But for a reason unknown to him, he felt that it wasn't time to give up Light Yagami quite yet. Even at risk of L's own life.

Especially at risk of L's own life.

So Light and L played the roles of tourist and tour guide respectively. While spending days touring the Louvre, _Paroisse de la Madeleine_, the Eiffel Tower, _Château de Bagatelle_, all while outwardly acting friendly and benevolent_ - _L was watching Light fastidiously. There wasn't a doubt in his punctilious mind that the teenager was scheming, running through every possible outcome and scenario. However, what he did doubt was that Light had reached a satisfactory conclusion. The irritated way in which he tapped his foot, or paranoid flicker of his bloodshot eyes supported this theory as concrete evidence. Not for the first time on their trip, the detective regretted that he had not brought along the six foot long handcuff that the pair was so familiar with, if for no other purpose than keeping a habitual eye on Light. As it was, in the moments that they were separated, for whatever reason, L assumed that Light was plotting something or other. The only justification he had for allowing this behavior was that unless the youth had friends in very high places, there was nothing that he could do. The thirteen day trial was strictly confidential, and no amount of blackmail or bribery would change that.

L had composed his results with strict attention to detail in his behavior. He did it, even without always actively ruminating the matter. Light's wisest choice would be to continue traveling with L. If he left, he would have to get back to Japan and if he was alone, there was a seventy percent chance that he would end up having to explain a false identification (a feat not even Light could accomplish without L). If he went anywhere else he would be a sitting lamb among merciless variants of cultures and languages that he might not comprehend. Then there was the problem of him not having any currency of any kind - he was currently living off of L's finances. If he called anyone at the NPA for money, again, he would have to explain 'Ray Misora', and with Interpol so close by that would be deleterious to his freedom.

And the truth was, L preferred that Light was with him. Not just because he was accustomed to furthering Kira investigation, but because he was investigating something else, too. Whatever that other thing was, around Light he felt as though he were approaching the recondite truth.

At the eastern end of _Champs-Élysées _was one of the most famous - or perhaps infamous - squares in Paris: _Place de la Concorde_. Built in 1755, it was a historical triumph. Fountains and statues decorated stone ground, and overlooking them was the grand _Hôtel de Crillon_, where Queen Marie Antoinette often spent her afternoons (a place still in operation). In the center of the crowded square was a grand monument: a giant Egyptian obelisk, which towered into the air in jubilation for the ancient pharaoh Ramses II. Back a few hundred years ago, there once stood a weapon as bloody as the Death Note next to this very obelisk: a guillotine.

L brought Light here to 'tour' for a reason.

"Maximilien Robespierre." The name rode out of L's mouth in the quiet, controlled tone that suggested a lack of emotion to all who did not know him. He did not look at his companion, because he did not need to. He already felt the flickering chocolate eyes of Light Yagami on his back. "He was austere in his moral code, so rigorous in fact that he earned himself the nickname of 'The Incorruptible'. He was a man who was one hundred percent devoted to his revolution, in fact, he was a leader of it."

Light's tone didn't falter in the least, it was just as controlled - acted, with delicate amusement that masked hidden hostility. "It sounds like you're answering a question that I didn't ask."

"No." L turned his head slightly around his shoulders, looking at the adolescent out of the corners of strained ebony eyes. "It's my question and nothing more than mere curiosity: Have you heard of this man?"

"_Heard_ of Robespierre?" Light let out a aerial laugh at that, an air of sophisticated snobbery that he probably deserved. "Just because I'm not fluent in French doesn't mean that I'm not familiar with one of the most epic events in all of history - the French Revolution. Robespierre was a key player."

"Ah, pardon me." Thoughtfully, he exchanged glances with the vigilante. Even standing there in Paris with his impeccable ability to absorb the atmosphere around him and magnify it into something twisted, if astounding, Light could not look French. Light could not look like he fit into this world that he had never once explored, not any closer than his fingertips on the pages of some textbook. "Perhaps I'm reminiscing, so please indulge me. Robespierre was a lawyer. A judge, in fact. A criminal judge, as appointed by the bishop of Arras, and he was also quite beloved. A writer, a journalist, even a _philosopher_."

Light could not look French. But to L, the comparison was crystal clear.

"You hate philosophy," came the answer, almost smug as it regarded the detective with acrimony. "Robespierre was known for his virtue. He was an inspiration to the people, and this is how he eventually landed himself in a seat of power. France was rotting at that time, under the useless King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, neither of which gave a damn about anyone other than the nobles. The middle-class _bourgeoisie _had no rights, and those in poverty died cold and hungry."

"Aha," L said, almost triumphantly. He might as well have been pointing a finger at Light with the accusation that his tone wielded. "I hypothesized that you'd have liked Robespierre."

Light's smirk twitched ever so slightly, and he offered a hasty reply. "I never said that I liked him. Philosophers of the Enlightenment era wrote that if a particular government is not sufficiently doing its job, a duty in which human beings entrust in the system in exchange for their natural rights, then the people had a divine right to overthrow it. He was a follower of this doctrine."

"A _divine_ right?"

"Certainly," Light said vigorously. "And even in your distaste for philosophy, these ideas of John Locke, Jean-James Rousseau and the others have been adapted right into the constitutions of various governing institutions. And do you disagree with that, Lawliet?"

"Do I disagree with revolution?" L asked to clarify.

"Yes." His irises were like hardened amber as they displayed their convictions, a confidence in his position and a strength of steel in his voice.

L found convictions to be foolish. He shook his head slightly. "I can only find it justified if it is successful. I told you once that I disliked philosophy because I find it inapplicable to the real world. The revolutionary ideals of Robespierre, Danton, all the rest - what did it matter?"

"It mattered for everything," Light said fiercely. "They were the hope of the people. It was something for those living the most wretched of lives to look to. When they were dying in the streets, at least they could look up at the sky without disconsolation. These frivolous philosophers, as you've called them, were fighting to bring justice to a world of hallow depression."

L nodded in acknowledgement of this point. He turned his back to Light again and instead looked up at the _Obélisque de Luxor_, standing like its own beacon of hope as it rose up through a seemingly infinite atmosphere. But the atmosphere was _not_ infinite, it was an eggshell that surrounded the Earth. If Light flew too high into the sky, he would soon enough run out of oxygen. And by the Obelisk was once a guillotine. "People were dying in the streets _before _the Revolution, huh..."

The retort was a little slow, because the vigilante who knew him so well had already understood what angle his opponent in rhetoric was going to take. "Yes, Lawliet. Things were miserable enough to make them _want_ to revolt. You can't deny that."

"I'm not denying it, but I'm calling it irrelevant." At that, L snapped his narrowed eyes back to Light with a calm ferociousness. "They, who loved their dreams and revolution so much, what happened to them? They beheaded their King and Queen, destroyed their existing government and were left in complete chaos. The beloved idealist, Maximilien Robespierre, became their leader. He lead as perhaps the most influential actor in the new make-shift committees. However, _that_ period in history is what scholars call the 'Reign of Terror'."

Uneasiness sparked through the arrogance in Light's eyes. "Yes, that did happen. But their intentions were noble, isn't that the most important thing?"

"Yes, it's important - _to a child._" L emphasized this insult without twitching a muscle in his face. He was calm, blank, and yet full of his own fury. "To everything else, no, intentions do not count for anything. Numbers and statistics are what ultimately run this world. Robespierre ended up sending agents to murder anyone who might stand in the way of his reign. And he murdered more than opposition, too. It was a massacre. His paranoia and even insanity left his Justice bloodstained."

Light didn't answer. He regarded L coolly.

L continued. "He was an intelligent young man who inspired all of France. Poverty-stricken Paris greatly desired such a muse. However, when they woke up from the dream, they saw their idealist as a mass-murdering tyrant. They had him arrested. Robespierre was given no trial. They rode him straight to the guillotine, where he was decapitated just like the previous leaders."

The adolescent named Kira cut in, "And I don't blame the people. _He_ fell prey to corruption. He _was_ a murdering tyrant. His rule was also a demolition of the contract between the people and the government, so he had to go. The ideals themselves are still unmarred and the same. It's a question of whether or not those carrying out the ideals can hold true to the end."

"_Right here_, Light-kun," L said quietly, but with a steady emphasis and strength. A crooked finger pointed at the Egyptian obelisk. Light stopped talking and looked at his enemy in confusion, and after a moment the enemy explained. "Only a couple of yards away from where you stand, the Incorruptible was dragged to the guillotine of _Place de la Concorde_, then called _Place de la Révolution_. Sources say he was frightened, but I wonder if he gave up his ideals even then. Regardless, at the guillotine the blade came crashing down and none of that even mattered anymore. A few yards away from you, Light-kun, Robespierre was executed."

A startled look glimmered across his young face as he realized exactly what point L was trying to make. That was quickly masked. Light Yagami did not like to lose a battle of rhetoric. He was very still in how he stood, though L could see that his fingers were clenched into fists. L smiled and was about to turn away, but then Light said, "The idealism mattered in the end. If it hadn't been there, the Revolution would not have happened."

"You condone one of the most bloody events in history?"

"It's not the blood that I condone," Kira said. "It's the passion. If the Revolution would have not happened, then the world would have remained in a state of hopelessness. Even if the events themselves backfired, they chose a chance at integrity over emptiness. They chose against indifference to evil. Even if they died, they were more alive because of it."

Something in those words left L without retaliation. _They were more alive because of it_.

L and Kira were hallow entities without their passion. _Are we more alive because of it, too? Are we more alive because we choose to... stand up against the perceived evil of the other?  
_

"It's just a pity that the French Revolution didn't have a pure enough leader," Light said off-handedly.

The moment broken, L looked at him in antagonism. Not since Watari's death had he suddenly felt a conviction so strong to put that egotistical vigilante in handcuffs.

But at the same time, a part of him wondered with a morbid need about the things that Light had said. Foolish, definitely... but what was it about people like Light Yagami or Maximilien Robespierre that made others stray from the path of rationality to dreams that in the long run could only crumble?

L didn't have that charm. He didn't claim to stand on a pedestal. But between the pair of them, L was the one who was void, empty of passion and lacking a name to proudly call his own.

* * *

_There came another night when the rest of the task force and even Watari was asleep. Because Light's cell was ceaselessly lit with a dim light, he had no real perception of Time. During these moments, L felt no intimidation in pressing the button to the microphone and pretending that he had a purpose. _

"_Light-kun, it's been thirty-four days now."_

"_Thank you," came the quiet answer. Light was sitting up, but leaning his back against the wall of his cell. He turned to the camera with unsophisticated hopefulness. "Have the criminals started dying yet?"_

_They had, but as part of this interrogation, L wasn't going to let Light know that. Instead of giving any kind of confirmation, he said, "Light-kun? I'm wondering if you've ever been out of Japan."_

_Light gave the video camera a sideways glance. "Why are you asking me? I'm sure you have extensive files of me dating back to my birth."_

_That wasn't exactly true - the earlier years weren't what L would call 'extensive', per se. Regardless. "I was asking you because I thought you might like to have another conversation."_

_The adolescent blinked, and then he smiled at that, visibly brightened due to this distraction from his agonizingly monotonous days. As they chatted again, Light couldn't see it, but L was smiling too._

* * *

Justice was a dangerous game. 

The plan had been risky. Light _knew_ it had been risky. He had been risking his life for his cause ever since he decided to use the Death Note to purge the world of evil. He was highly intelligent, and he knew damned well that he was walking on thin ice. One wrong step and everything would shatter.

It was dangerous when he decided to accept L's challenge on television that night. It was dangerous when he decided to draw out the detective. It was an elaborate scenario, risky, but it was meticulously planned out. First, he had hacked into the police database to discover precisely what they thought Kira could do - and then the next day, he broke their rules. L had only to assume, and rightfully so that he was connected to the NPA, just as Light had wanted him to assume. The detective, who was either a dog of Interpol or Interpol was _his_ dog, sent American FBI agents to spy on the police force and those closest to them.

Light hadn't just killed Ray Penbar. He killed all twelve agents.

The angry FBI leader had publicly blamed L for this loss, and the Japanese NPA soon found out. Distrust in L accumulated, and those who were still willing to risk their lives to capture Kira demanded that he showed himself in person. L complied.

That was Light's first victory.

Then, when Misa had been captured and it was only a matter of days before L had Light arrested too, Light made the preemptive move - he turned himself in for long-term investigation. He went as far as giving up his memories and set up the scenario where he and L would work together to catch a third Kira. When his fingers touched the Death Note the next time, the memories came flooding back. Light knew that L was going to test the thirteen day rule. That too was part of the plan, so Rem would be pressured to kill him in an effort to protect Misa. A detail that had been left unconsidered was that L would have no name.

That ruined everything. Because now he had his territory pulled from under his feet and he was in Paris. And the experiment was reaching its climax. Tick, tick, _bang_. In a few hours, it could be the beginning of the end.

L had suggested that they return to the hotel room, and Light knew damned well why. A penetrating ebony gaze bore into his back, watching him with the utmost caution. When they navigated silently through hallways of the _Sofitel le Faubourg_, the only sounds in the trembling silence was the shy ticking of Light's wristwatch. Tick, tick, it sounded like a time bomb. This might have been the calm before the storm if anything at all had been calm - but either way, a storm was ineluctably coming.

"Light-kun looks weary," L commented as they tread across the carpeted hallway that provided the winded trail to their hotel room. "He should perhaps go to bed early tonight. It's possible that he still has traces of influenza..."

In a few hours, the fake rule that protected Light and Misa would be ripped to shreds, like a fawn tossed into a cage of starving wolves. Light should have returned that favor and protected the fawn in turn, but there was nothing he could do. Was it a limit to his intellect? Or was the situation just out of his control? _Fuck that_. Light needed this control in the way that he needed to breath, he couldn't live without one or the other.

The consequences of this failure would be severe.

No, there was still time, right? A few hours. Interpol would allow for a period of leeway concerning when the second criminal had his heart attack, so maybe even up to an extra hour could be allowed. He could still find the name of the second criminal. Somehow. He would take the chance and e-mail President Dressler, pretending to be L, tell him that there had been a change of plans. He would kill the real L and flee Paris.

Wait. Was he an idiot? That wouldn't work. L had told Dressler not to tell him anything for a reason.

_Damn him… _Light wasn't sure he had ever despised anyone as much as he despised him. _It's all his fucking fault… if only he had died on that day, none of this would have happened!_

"Don't worry about me," he said out loud and shook his head, keeping his voice steady as best he could. But even he could hear the fragments of abhorrence like glass shards infiltrating his tone.

There was silence as L unlocked the hotel door. It swung open, and the detective motioned at Light to go in first. When he had entered, L followed and slammed the door behind. The lock was clicked to the side for added security - though Light felt as though he had a greater intention of keeping his suspect in as opposed to keeping thieves out.

The investigator stared at the adolescent through looming, cryptic eyes. He was still, slouched like a stone gargoyle on one of Paris's Catholic churches. His expression was equally blank and uncommunicative, but somehow that was the greatest offense. L then strode forward across the room and stopped at the window. His gaze was now at the nighttime city. The golden neon lights from outside the glass were the only things lighting up the hotel room, everything else was as shadowy as the detective himself. When L finally spoke, he did not turn his head. "If you want, Light-kun, I could tell you who the second criminal is. You do seem so curious, and I'm forfeiting the Kira case for now so why should I mind?"

The first reaction was that he could not believe that L was being so blunt, after these passed days when they had made an unspoken pact to not speak of Kira. Light's heart skipped a few beats, and he felt the color draining from his face. Slowly, and forcing his voice to stay composed he said, "I don't know what you mean, Lawliet."

"But if I did that, then you would be the only one who knew. And when he dies, then Kira could only be one person."

The brunet didn't have a coherent thought. Something in this frenzied paranoia had intoxicated him like an alcohol. He felt jittery as he turned back toward L, whose normally dark eyes were suddenly more striking than ever. Striking and judgmental and alive. "Lawliet. Even now, it's you who won't give it up. No matter how much you say that you want to find your name more than anything, it's me that you want, to prove that I'm Kira and have me executed, right?"

L's head cocked to the side. "You're correct... I want my name, and I want you, Light-kun."

"Heh." Light exhaled a anxious huff of a chuckle. "If only Lawliet would trust me."

"That would be nice for you, wouldn't it?" Lawliet said, his empty face smirking without moving a muscle. "Unfortunately for you, this is not a luxury people like us can afford."

"What do you mean, 'people like us'?" Light demanded, an unruly temper rising.

"Liars. Liars like us."

Light's eyes widened, irises twitching and pupils shrinking. Then a second later, that was gone, and the demon restrained by a brittle prison broke free. Light was snarling. "Stop comparing yourself to me, Lawliet. I never lie unless it can be justified. The reasons that you and I do what we do are completely different, so don't throw that insult around so easily."

"Justified, huh?" There was a note of sarcasm in his tone. "That's what I thought. I still do. But comparing and conjecturing is what I do, and between the pair of us, I see one vital difference: you are entirely foolish. That's the reason that you're mad now - that foolishness is catching up with you."

Light flushed in outrage, his tone tottering through calm reservations. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"And now you're afraid for your life," L continued callously. "You're more unsettled than you've ever been in your life. It's true that there is some difference in you and I. However, there is one comparison that I've conjectured between the two of us that not even you could deny. There are things that you and I long for. I came to this conclusion earlier: we both desire to _feel something_."

There was a fierce silence following this claim. Light had had his fist clenched, ready to meet with L's jaw with enough force to shatter his teeth. He was seething, shaking, loathing and there was something in those words that made everything both multiply and divide until he wasn't sure what was what anymore.

"You asked me why we are here in Paris a few days ago. That would be the answer." L hesitated. "I want to feel something, Light-kun. It's you who radiates with passion and intensity, and that is a trait I find both imprudent and admirable. That's how I knew you were Kira..."

"_Stop_. Stop it, L." Light couldn't explain the panic that he was feeling, built up in these passed couple of days because the walls were closing in around him. And their conductor was Lawliet, and the guillotine was mocking him like it mocked Robespierre. And now at the zenith of things, he could not contain it any longer.

"We could kill each other at any time, right?" Lawliet gave a crooked smile. "And since we are fully aware that we can die, we know that we are alive. If I'm alive, then I can feel things. This is the answer that I have come up with. And perhaps that is the real reason why I let you accompany me."

_You could die. And when you die, there will be no heaven or hell for you. There will be nothingness._

_You don't want nothingness, right? You also want to feel something._

_...Anything..._

Light approached Lawliet, who stood there returning his stare. For another moment, Light had no way of knowing what would happen next, but it would be something. His fists clenched, fingers digging sharply into his palms because he everything was crumbling out of his control. He hated that and he hated what it would mean. A change in strategy and altering tactics produced the same result: Light might die. He had to feel, he had to know that his skin still worked and that his body wasn't a corpse. He was still alive, he knew he was still alive because Lawliet was standing right before him.

A mutual variable to become the deciding factor. _Still alive..._

And then they lunged at each other like fierce predators. Fingers dug into skin, fists into stomachs, and the way they shoved and pulled Light foggily thought that perhaps it was another fight. He aggressively clasped onto the hem of Lawliet's shirt.

"What you want, Light..." L hissed in a low voice. "Is not always simple. You have to face the consequences of your actions."

That challenge crossed any line of common sense that there might have been. It instigated an angry energy that pulsed in his hands, tearing off that ragged white shirt and revealing the slim body of the detective. It was a body that Light had seen before - after a long enough time of standing no more than five feet away from each other, self-consciousness dissipates. But tonight, there was something different about it. It was an accusation and a challenge in mortal flesh. Fair skin that pulled firmly against a thin torso which was deceptive because of tight muscles intertwining between as abs chiseled like a statue - it was another way that L tried to lead people to underestimate him. Light had already learned from numerous wrestling matches that he was strong, and a skilled martial artist. However, never before did this man look quite so threatening.

Lawliet's eyes were like jet black glass, both reflecting the dim moonlight and casting a shadow all of their own. The dark eyelashes and circles that surrounded them weren't giving off the clueless, sleep-deprived impression anymore - now they served to intensify the whiteness of his eyeballs in harsh contrast. The expression that had once seemed naive was only blank now because it gave the impression of total control, absolute detachment of any troublesome feeling of uncertainty. Lawliet was still slouching like he often did, however, that too was now delusive, and tonight it was suddenly a position of arrogance, like a mocking smirk.

_Liars like us. You haven't told the truth once in your life, have you Light?_

"The thing that you want, Light..." Lawliet's baritone voice murmured. "To this I say..." Slender hands now grabbed Light's white dress shirt, both on either side and separated by the vertical line of buttons. "_One for one_."

"Nnh," Light growled as Lawliet's hands forced apart, ripping the buttons on his shirt apart in one swift motion. His own chest was exposed, and he grit his teeth because never had anyone ever done that to _him_. No, in all of his relationships _he_ had been the one holding the cards - but L wasn't he greatest enemy for nothing. So he seized the other man's wrists to prevent them from acquiring any advantage. Almost sarcastically, Lawliet smiled and halted his hands, and Light seethed with a vengeance. "The choices that you've made have consequences, too."

Lawliet raised his hands slightly, twisting them subtly, and then slammed then downward to free his wrists from the grasp. Then suddenly it was as though he were standing up straight and looking Light in the eye - because really, they were the same height, and the expression on his face said more clearly than words, _I know that already_. Spindly, clever fingers rose to wrap around the vigilante's throat.

And then it was a battle.

Light lunged forward, his lips crushing against Lawliet's like a tiger with bared fangs. His fingernails relentlessly clawed into the ashen back of the other, running down a bony spine. Lawliet responded by pulling Light's neck forward, forcing his mouth closer. They were locked there in a furious, bruising kiss, a battle as bloody as rhetoric debate among philosophers. Light dared to take a step forward, and as part of the chain reaction the raven-haired man had to step backwards. Light took another determined step, until finally they were at the wall next to the bed, and he slammed Lawliet into it viciously.

Lawliet tensed to recover, constricting his half-bitten fingernails, scraping them into the back of Light's bare neck, drawing blood for all Light knew. And then, the most offensive thing - he thrust his pelvis forward, meeting with the brunet's in a crack of hips. Light exhaled sharply in the kiss as that unwanted - or was it wanted? - feeling of warmth began to submerge into his groin, lead on all the more by the heat from Lawliet. This soon accelerated into a maddening throbbing. Light could feel the rough edges of the fingernails run down on his back, pressing him closer into the grinding below, and a trickle of perspiration fell from his brow.

With a hiss, Light retreated half of a step to regain composure, but that moment of uncertainty was all that Lawliet needed to brutally grab his shoulders and shove him backwards with a turbulent strength. Light lost his balance and stumbled, but the king-sized bed was right behind him. His shoulder blades smashed against the mattress, and without taking a moment to catch his breath he instantly he sat up again for fear of being at a disadvantage around _him_. Lawliet immediately followed on the bed, and instead of capturing his mouth again, his lips latched on to Light's neck.

"Hah…!"

It took Light a moment to realize that Lawliet was more or less sitting on top of him. His knees were on the mattress on either side of his own legs, tightly pinning his limbs in place. Lawliet's arms were tangled in his own, and they were both roughly pulling each other closer with ruthlessly desperate hunger. It was as though if they embraced tightly enough they could shatter their physical puppets of bodies and crush their very souls together in this obsessive dance. Again, Light felt a famished heat in his groin as Lawliet was grinding their hips together, painfully and yet more, more, he trembled because he needed more.

In this burning sensation, he felt himself tighten with frustration. His throbbing member was screaming for freedom under the confines of the clothing, and he gasped out loud. That combined with the sucking on his sensitive neck made him squirm with uncomfortable, aching fury. It was so infuriating, slashing his logical mind to shreds, and he intended to make Lawliet also suffer. Though he had never done this with a man before, he had versatile hands and he would make use of them. He trailed one set of fingers around in front of his enemy, tracing the curves of his muscles. There, there was the hem of his jeans, he felt them even if he did not see, and skillfully he unsnapped the button at the top. With his other hand still on the man's back, he felt the man hold his breath and then nip at his neck more roughly in a sense of retaliation. Teeth were biting at his skin, but Light wasn't done yet - he slipped his hand under the denim material, feeling the silk of the boxers. He didn't pass that second barrier, but he could feel Lawliet's warm member already. Delicately, he outlined it, feeling its angry curve, and then he unleashed his aggression: he clasped it at the head, and then began to stroke mercilessly.

"Ahh.." Lawliet gasped out loud, a quiet, reserved sound. But he was the detective who rose up to challenges and made his own dares. There was nothing in him that had any intention of being submissive, and Light knew that very well. In fact, he had been counting on it. Because in a counterattack, one of Lawliet's own pallid hands darted around to Light's stomach, and then the other one joined in to unbuckle his belt and rip open the obtrusive khaki pants. Then, one of the hands was gone again, holding up Light by the back, clutching onto his skin. The hand that lingered cupped around Light's groin, tightening and holding but not yet moving, building up a fiery thirst that begged to be quenched.

Not that Light would ever, _ever _beg for anything from Lawliet. "Heh... You bastard," he instead hissed under his breath. He was trembling under the other's hold and he knew it.

Lawliet lifted his lips off of Light's neck, and he shuddered once for Light was increasing the friction on his own member. He tossed his head and his fervent charcoal eyes met with Light's irises of melted amber. "Ah... Light... the thing, the thing you want most..."

"Yes?" He flinched and grit his teeth as Lawliet palmed him forcefully.

"_Confess it to me_!"

Light could have said a number of things, he realized in hazy comprehension. Those feelings of passion, shattering a dead depression that otherwise submerged the philosophical like an empty ocean of midnight. _I want to rid the world of crime. I want to be Kira. I want to kill you. I want you to bring me to orgasm, damn you, I want... _

_..to feel all of these things..._

"I don't know," he could only say, clenching his teeth together when Lawliet's thumb slid up onto his length. And it was true. With his head flushing with passion, he didn't know, he couldn't think straight, all rationality was twisted into the growing storm, a screaming wind and rain of sweat. "I don't know!"

Then Lawliet was also stroking, and neither of them spoke again, they were in an existence where words no longer made sense. The roar of trumpets, the pounding of drums, the whole symphony accelerated into resonant _vibrato_. Hands clasped and clawed, a _forte_ as everything was louder. The two opposite melodies, the left and the right, were playing in a perfect harmony, conducting a rush of blood and perspiration and such an uncontrollable heat in the war dance of flames. They built up into a climax, each following a rapid rhythm, neither slowing down and neither giving in. It was relentless, unyielding, hateful, loving, agonizing ecstasy. A flooded windstorm of emotions, the entwining of the obsessive nature of the physical and the mental.

_I need you. I need you, God Damn It All, I need you. I need you to be my bloodthirsty enemy and my dearest friend. I _need you_ for your cruelty and your understanding. I need you to make me alive and I _need you to kill me._ I need... _

_I want..._

"Aagh!"

And then, finally in an explosion of emotion, the white bliss that had been bottled and shackled found its freedom. A wave of exhausted satisfaction overcame Light, making him sigh in his panting, and he fell back onto the bed, with Lawliet right beside him.

For a few minutes, or maybe it was more than just a few, neither of them spoke. They listened quietly as the symphony slowed, the rainstorm calmed and the breathing became more gentle. A steady in-and-out, taming the heartbeats that had previously gone wild. It was an undetermined amount of time when finally they recognized something beyond the immediate act.

"Thank you, Light-kun," Lawliet said quietly, even meekly, with all of his inner, brutal strength now resting again as he curled up next to his friend.

Light stared up at the ceiling, blinking back the sleepy feeling that he now felt and not really looking at anything. "You're welcome, I suppose," he mumbled in return. "Actually, you surprised me. I didn't think you'd... you know..."

"Know how to manipulate your body in that way?" he answered bluntly, now with his usual, arrogantly droning voice. "I told you that I had kissed five people. But I did not tell you anything else, now did I?"

_Liars like us._

The mass murderer was lost in his own confusion. He couldn't place into words why this event had just happened. It was a product of bitter hatred as much as it was of the need for distraction. No, did such occurrences need a single reason to explain _why_? Did they always need to be explained? So many things in nature were attributed to a billion, uncountable mysteries, even the Death Note itself, the thing he thought he needed the most, was something he didn't understand.

The only thing that he knew was that it made him feel alive, and like an alcohol it shook his logic and grasped into his longing.

No. No, that in itself was the reason, wasn't it? Light Yagami had lived a dead life, wandering in foggy surrealism. He didn't understand it back then in school, didn't understand why, when he had a perfect life, was he an empty shell. _Wake up!_ Challenge yourself. Take the most difficult classes, even then they don't offer a challenge, but try anyway. It was a hopeless void that he had despised, but what could he have done? The world was rotting. The crimes were on television, keeping his father working late at the office, and everyone else was indifferent. Light wasn't indifferent, he was just hollow, floating by his own existence and nothing challenged that. That was his depression.

And then Ryuk came. The Shinigami dropped his notebook, and suddenly, everything clicked on. _I can do this. I can make a difference_. _I don't have to be dead anymore._ It was passion that brought life to his eyes, and his potential was released. He had a purpose for being alive. The purpose, though, it didn't, it couldn't outweigh the feeling. _I am here, and I am real..._

"I know what the thing I want the most is now, Lawliet," Light said out loud without turning toward the man he knew was right next to him.

The eyes were on him, studying his face and waiting for the response.

"I want to be alive."

_When you die, don't expect to go to Heaven or Hell. There _is_ no Heaven or Hell, Light. There is _Nothingness_, that's where you'll go when you die._ Ryuk was still grinning, constantly grinning at his own cleverness. As if the truth of organic compounds and the souls that humanity placed so much value in was entirely his own game, just like his game of dropping the Death Note. The Shinigami laughed at him, so long ago when they first met. _You can use the notebook however you please, but in the end, I'm gonna be the one to write your name down._

_...I don't want to be Nothingness._

"We're very similar, Light-kun," Lawliet said with soft conviction, and somehow he seemed closer than before. "I also want to be alive. We've lived our lives accordingly, haven't we?"

_It's what makes a human. The wants, the desires._

_A desideratum in life.  
_

The clock still ticks, even if one stubbornly turns away from it. And at that moment, at the _tick, tick, ticking_ thin hand of the contraption that dared to measure something as infallible as Time itself, it ticked away what should have been the last second of life for Thomas Lindstrom. He should have convulsed in the execution chair that he was strapped down to, he should have writhed in agony and foamed at the mouth, and then he too should have gone to the Nothingness that the Death Note promised for him. But instead Thomas Lindstrom sat there, confused, quite relieved, and most definitely alive.

Just the way that all of the key players in this game had already known that he would be.

_-To Be Continued. . ._

* * *

Author's Notes: 

1. 'Cantata' - a musical piece with vocal composition (singing) and instrumental accompaniment. Compare to the earlier 'sonata' - there is a theme now of Light and L talking.

2. 'Desideratum' - something considered necessary or highly valuable, something strongly wanted. (Raise your hand if you knew what that meant prior to this story... because I'm baking you cookies)

3. Yes, I compared the French Revolution to _Death Note_, let it be made clear that I'm a loser. The French Revolution (1789-1799) was one of the most grand events in history. Enlightenment philosophy (figures such as Edmund Burke, Immanuel Kant, John Locke, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, etc.) gave the middle class the confidence to demand democracy, citizenship, and inalienable rights from a King and Queen more interested in socializing with the nobles (compare the middle-class to Light Yagami). The peasants, who were more interested in staying alive and getting more food (the nobles had lavish parties when the lower-class was starving) followed along, inspired by the middle class (think Misa Amane). Eventually the monarchy was overthrown and sent to the guillotine. France became a republic... and then, inevitably, things became chaotic once again. Figures such as Robespierre and Danton aimed for more power, leading to a violent dictatorship. Anyone who publicly opposed this new government was murdered (Lind L. Taylor?).

4. I tried to write the yaoi scene similar to a fight scene - violent and passionate, I hope I successfully got that message across. I know a lot of you are probably wondering if this is LxLight or LightxL... in this story, concepts of 'seme' and 'uke' are irrelevant.

5. On the note of yaoi - I can't find it in me to consider this a romance story. It's a story about time, obsession, idealism vs. reality, self identity and two kindred spirits. Please don't expect fluffy bubbles... besides, I'm not sure if I'd be able to write something like that without making it morbidly disturbing... ha, ha. I know this was another dark chapter, after the previous light-hearted one, but this does, after all, conclude the 13 day test, and tension is high.

6. Slow update because this chapter was frustrating me. It still is, but oh well. _C'est la vie_.

I know I say thank you every chapter, but I really mean it. I checked my 'stats' page and the number of hits to this story made me blush. And every time my e-mail tells me that I have a new review, I get so excited. Thank you everyone who has been keeping up with this mess, you all make me smile. :-) -Serria


	10. Grand Caricature

**DESIDERATUM: Chapter 10**

Disclaimer: Serria is now a poor college student. She is putting off buying rights to Death Note until after she has that education type thing, and that money type thing.

**GRAND CARICATURE**

* * *

"So Lindstrom didn't bite the dust after all," Diane Wittlinger commented off-handedly as she ran a few painted nails through her vivid curls of hair. She said this off-handedly because it was a simple fact that everyone in the Interpol knew already, that President Dressler knew already and the NPA knew, and L knew too. It was a comment as simple as 'so the sun did rise today!' or 'Kira is a sociopath.' Simple words that read truth like computer coding. 

Akiyama hadn't shaved in a week. He was completely distracted, always reading one report or another with eyes that were either bloodshot or bloodthirsty. He glanced now at Diane with vexation, only partially focused on her. "That's only true for the next half-hour."

She raised a plucked eyebrow. "That so? But the Death Note thing..."

"No, not the Death Note. Something much more grand, and of human creation."

'Murder' is a matter of perception. Some prefer to call it 'necessity'. Others still call it 'justice'. The only one who doesn't give a damn as to the title is the victim, whose opinion is the most irrelevant.

Thomas Lindstrom had been promised freedom if he participated in the experiment. He had never been told what exactly the experiment was, only that he had to write down the name 'Anton Gates' while observing the mug shot of the man. Whatever they want, he had thought. Freedom was a good enough promise for anything. He had been in prison for twenty years and was ready to see the sunlight.

But the world is cruel.

He was taken to a chair and strapped down all over again, the day after they told him the experiment would be done. He wondered briefly if they were going to debrief him somehow, tell him the results and explain the conditions of his release.

What he hadn't expected was that a small crowd of security would be gathered around him, stone-faced. A man in white delicately held a small syringe containing 100 milliequivalents of the lethal drug, potassium chloride. Lindstrom, who had been on death row for long enough, knew that this chemical was going to stop his heart from beating as well as any of Kira's heart attacks.

And he saw it coming.

"Oh sweet Jesus!" he moaned out loud, struggling against the straps. "Please, God! You promised, you promised!"

"Thomas Lindstrom. Your sentence of death by lethal injection has not been overturned," one man said. Thomas couldn't see who it was because everything was a blur and he didn't have his glasses. "You have been charged with mass manslaughter and given indictment. At this moment you have the opportunity to give a final statement."

"_You promised_!" he shrieked. "Oh God!"

But the needle still plunged into his vein, and the poisonous contents of the syringe were emptied. In no less than seven minutes, the man was a carcass, slumped over in his chair with death written across his features like black ink over some mortal work of literature.

As she witnessed this, a thought crossed Diane's mind. She mumbled it quietly, as such a thing wasn't in her usual nature to suggest: "Maybe gods keep promises better than humans do."

Akiyama glanced her way. "He's damned, either way."

And suddenly, Diane wasn't sure if he was talking about Thomas Lindstrom or Kira.

* * *

It wasn't until ten o'clock that Light woke up, and when he did, it was sudden and quick. The memories scrambled through a desperate mind at the speed that light fills a room as soon as a switch is flicked, except that the thoughts were nothing so comforting as salvation from the dark. Instead it was an instant frenzy. He sat up from the bed, which he was lying in alone, and immediately he thought that perhaps he was in handcuffs, or in a jail cell. Perhaps in the execution chair, perhaps his heart was pounding its final beats... 

But he was still in the exquisite _Sofitel le Faubourg_, buried in white blankets and free - in some sense of the word, anyway. L, who must have been awake for hours, was crouched on the mahogany chair by the table, his eyes narrowed and focused on the laptop in front of him. Light's heart beat irregularly as he watched his enemy. Thirteen days was false and now L knew it for sure, as if he ever had a doubt in his mind. So what would happen now? That in itself was enough of an excuse to put Light back under surveillance, even more diligently because of how suspiciously coincidental the circumstances were.

"Good morning, Light-kun," L greeted monotonously, his eyes only momentarily flickering to Light before they returned to the screen. "Did you sleep well?"

Still in the dark as to if, or how, they were going to continue to play this game of pretend, Light cautiously slipped his bare feet onto the carpet. "Fine, thank you," he murmured as a neutral response.

Thick silence followed as L typed at his keyboard - for all Light knew, he was telling Interpol exactly where and when to pick up their most wanted criminal. Tap, tap, tap, abomination. After a few minutes, the detective glanced at him haughtily. "Is there something bothering you?"

_Aside from the fact that I'm a step closer to lethal injection? _"No, nothing. What are you doing?"

"I am typing on my computer."

It was as though the lanky imp of a man enjoyed watching Light squirm uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye. His lips twitched in a suppressed smile, making an obvious show of studying the screen.

"Fine," Light snapped, standing up all together. He wasn't in the mood to play games with this bastard. There was no way that L would tell him his situation with Interpol, not now and not after an hour of coaxing.

The issue to calculate was the same issue it had been since the beginning of this journey. Stay with L, or run? Running was as good as a confession of guilt, and that option could only be chosen if all else was failing. If he stayed, the outcome was foggy and unknown. There was a possibility that L would let him tag along longer, and another possibility that at any moment he would deliver Kira like a neatly tied package to the nearest police agency.

"Light-kun." Ebony eyes darted up to meet him. "You aren't meeting my expectations. Aren't you going to say anything?"

"...What?" Light stared at him, wondering what these 'expectations' were. To bring up the thirteen day test? To vehemently deny guilt, or sobbingly admit it? What kind of psychological game did he have in mind to pinpoint him as Kira now?

"In all of you sexual experiences, I imagined that you would say the morning-after words to give the occurrence closure, instead of leaving it awkwardly on the table."

...L looked dead serious.

He looked dead fucking serious.

"Are you _serious_?" Light asked, just to clarify, wondering briefly if he had heard right or if he had finally lost the last shreds of his sanity. Last night... oh God. _Awkward_, what was awkward?! He hadn't been thinking about _that_, he had more important things on his mind - such as contemplating strategies to stay alive and methods to kill the detective.

_That_... had just been the result of stress, and neither man was in his right mind.

"Would I lie to you?" came the cool answer. L's head cocked slightly to the side like a curious dog. The kind of dog that ate people. And lied about it later. "Light-kun is blushing, I had no idea he was so shy about such matters. After all, he's had twenty-three sexual partners."

"Sexual? _Kissing_, Ryuuzaki! For God's sake, how about you grow up a little?"

"Grow up?" L's voice was so detached, it was almost frighteningly monotone and robotic, as though he were making a scientific observation. "_Grow up_, Yagami-kun says. Perhaps the reason that he has said no words of closure is because he does not yet mean for there to be closure. I deduce this from his Freudian slip."

Did _L_ really just say that?

He looked dead fucking serious.

And Light did not want to use that word to describe how serious L was any longer.

If Light hadn't been flushed red before, he was certain he was now, as red as Ryuk's favorite apples. Or fire. Or blood. Or hell. "I'm sorry, _what_?"

Now L was lopsidedly grinning. He stood up, hunched over as arrogantly as always and casually paced over to Light. "I'm only teasing you, Light-kun. You were scowling, and it's a shame to be scowling on a vacation in Paris. Though judging by your current expression, I'm conjecturing that you're a virgin."

"No!" Light hastily let out. "I haven't been a virgin for years."

... Oh God. What was happening? How was L suddenly manipulating him into confessions about his personal life when he had been resisting just that for a good year?

Because he was so edgy, of course. He realized this, and L realized this, too. There was only one reason that he would be edgy... But L's face showed no sign of putting this fact in the spotlight (for whatever good that meant - his face was always as blank as an unplugged television screen). He paused, watching Light with an amused smile and a thumb pressed against his lower lip. "You're edgy, Light-kun."

_Damn it._

...But wait.

Light allowed himself a few seconds to stare in contemplation at the gangly problem before him. The simple expression, the disheveled appearance and a nonchalant slouch: the dirty bastard, his dearest mortal enemy. L was offering him an invitation that was either very delicately computed, or absurdly rash (at this point, both were equally probable). The outcome was still uncertain, and any conclusion that L was trying to reach was unknown. But what he was saying was...

_We've already been pretending for this long. Complicated circumstances have taken a toll on this fragile balance... so let's jump start it... by taking it one step farther._

_...Because... facing the _truth_ isn't really convenient for either of us right now. Actually, we both want to win, while simultaneously running away. We left a lot of problems in Tokyo, so what do we do when they start chasing us?_

_...We do what liars do best._

It was as ridiculous as hell, it really was. It was preposterous how they danced between and around facts, manipulating even the intangible and leaping between bitter hatred and deranged companionship. But that kind of recognition only truly sunk in if you were a spectator, and not a player in this twisted game of cat-and-mouse.

_A caricature of desideratum._

As it was, in this they were in full agreement. Light understood the message and accepted. Now that the game was on, he didn't intend to be walked over. His face, which had previously been contorted into half-concealed anxiety, melted into total composition. He leaned back slightly on the mattress, holding himself up by his hands, and simpered presumptuously: "After your performance last night, shouldn't I be a little nervous?"

L seemed pleased with this answer, and was quick to retort with words that seemed alien in a voice that was the same familiar drawl. "I was hoping that you would request an _encore_. Perhaps it's me who should be nervous. After all, my audience has seen many shows before me."

"So?" Light asked, softening his voice in a way that he generally did to charm young women. Really, really fucking bizarre to use that tone with his deadpan nemesis, but that didn't matter as long as he was buying himself a chance to win. He swore to God that he would give _anything_ at this point to buy himself more time,_ all he needed _was more Time, and that was something that L was, apparently, offering to provide. "So, are you nervous?"

The detective's eyes widened as he studied the brunet, and a bony finger hooked around his bottom lip. "I'm confident in my abilities, and through investigation I will uncover what acts for which Light-kun will applaud the loudest."

A flimsy voice of rationality whispered into Light's ears, assuring him that his sanity was dissolving into dust, crackling up into ashes just the way that Rem had crackled up into ashes. The competition for victory had never been quite this fucked up, _never_, because at least before it made sense. This was L, and he was Light Yagami, and they were on different god-damned sides.

Light stood up, stepping forward so that his body was mere inches away from L's. Both of their cryptic eyes, in the middle of this chaotic façade, suddenly revealed something very clear and very honest: a maniacal challenge. Madness. And Light put his hand on L's shoulder, chuckling under his breath as though they were both on very friendly terms.

Two snakes, the creatures of knowledge and the darkness that subsequently follows, smirking like only serpents can. Forked tongues flickering outward, daring the other to advance so that they might lunge and bite their poison into tender flesh. That was a game Light knew how to play.

The kiss that followed was a caricature: Kira reached forward and tenderly flickered his tongue against L's bottom lip. Their mouths met - but _gently_, never adding unnecessary pressure, no force, only the mocking threat of intimacy. He inclined his chin to better absorb his adversary's warmth, the only kind of warmth that sent chills down his spine…

The chills brought with them a kind of masochistic pleasure. The chills themselves were sadism.

_L, do you know?_

Light could play this game to win against the ticking clocks because Kira had a plan. Kira had been in communication with Misa ever since she had arrived in Massachusetts, USA. The circumstances were rigid, and the plan was a shot in the dark, but _that_ shot was _going_ to kill something. Either way, it was sure to capture Interpol's attention for awhile.

Everything was a gamble. Time was the prize.

"By the way, Light-kun," L commented off-handedly as Light retreated toward the bathroom to take a shower. "I think that you'll want to wear a turtleneck shirt today."

"You son of a bitch," Light stared at the mirror in awe at the aftermath of previous night, where L's kiss had bruised his neck. Misa would kill him if she saw it. "Son of a bitch."

* * *

"So... wait..." Ryuk said. "You're giving up the Death Note? I'll have to clear your memories if you relinquish ownership." 

"I'm not relinquishing ownership," Misa answered snippily. "And who said anything about giving away the Death Note, huh?"

"Uh..." Humans confused the hell out of Ryuk. Though he knew better - this new 'plan', after all, was of a Light Yagami copyright, so obviously it was going to be elaborate.

After all, it was Light's idea that they come here to the country called United States of America. It was his fault that they were sitting here on the bench outside of the college university called 'Harvard'. The place was mildly brushed with snow but still just as pleasant (and prestigiously upper class, Misa had told him) as Light's own To-Doh back in Tokyo. Misa, of course, was not attending such a place as a student: her focus was not the location, but the crowd of people that had begun to form near a platform that stood not far away.

"Look, see?" The girl reached into her denim handbag and retrieved a thin black notebook. 'Death Note' was scribbled across the cover, but instead of in Shinigami pen the ink was that of a cheap silver marker. The cover and back was nothing more than construction paper. It looked like some five-year-old's art project. "It was Light's idea. I made this notebook, and because it's black and says the title, it'll fit any description that L might've given Interpol."

"Uh, great, but even if it says 'Death Note' it's not gonna kill people," Ryuk tried to reason, unsure if the girl understood this fact.

"Oh, yeah it will." Misa grinned devilishly. "The first three pages of this notebook are taken from _my_ Death Note. Look at this rule, right here: _One page taken from the Death Note, or even a fragment of the page, contains the full effects of the note._ So my fake notebook will work just fine."

"A fake notebook, huh?"

"And, _this_ rule." Misa flipped through her real Death Note and stopped on the corresponding page. "_Even if you do not actually possess the Death Note, the effect will be the same if you can recognize the person and his/her name to place in the blank._"

"Why are you telling me the rules? I know 'em all," Ryuk insisted, but he took this all in very carefully. "So you're gonna give away a fake book."

"It'll start as just one, anyway. Light told me about this rule, too. How-to-use XXXI: _The number of pages of the Death Note will never run out._" The girl paused, studying the two books in her hands. "That means even if I ripped out all the pages of this real Death Note, they'd just grow back again, wouldn't they Ryuk?"

Ryuk blinked his bulging eyes, and lifted a clawed hand to scratch his head. "Well, yeah. I guess you can remove all of them that you want and make fake books. But you said that only the first three pages in your fake book was real, why is that?"

"We don't need them any longer than it takes them to fill up three pages. They might go all psycho if they have that kind of power for too long."

He chuckled at that. "Yeah, psycho. _Hyuk, hyuk_."

"But that's what we want," Misa continued. "Someone crazy enough that will definitely get Interpol's attention, with a little help from me. And when they get arrested, I'll kill them, because I have the Shinigami eyes."

"Ah, I get it," the God nodded. He stretched his arms into the air and cracked his stiff neck. "So anyway, I need an apple here, Misa. Can we go back to the hotel now?"

"Hold on..."

The crowd before them was large now, very large. At least a hundred young and brilliant humans - or maybe not so brilliant, Ryuk never understood why this peculiar species equated a multitude of trivial facts with brilliance, anyway. He didn't bother to read every name that he saw above each particular head, and he didn't even bother to get a good look at the large, cardboard signs that the students fiercely wielded. Instead, he and Misa's attention turned to the man at the podium, wielding a microphone.

_"Kira is the Protector of the weak and the helpless!"_

Misa was holding her breath. Ryuk strained his ears to hear past the yelling of the crowd of well-dressed children.

_"Kira is the Saviour, come down from Heaven to punish the wicked who plague our society!_"

The campus was pretty, too. Ryuk wouldn't have minded taking a nice, relaxing fly around the buildings and go sight-seeing. Unfortunately, the rules said he couldn't go too far away from Misa, since she owned a Death Note that was under his name. And she liked to go to these pro-Kira rallies, sitting on the bench in the back of the crowd and probably daydreaming about her noble Light Yagami.

_"He, who wields the Sword of Justice, bears hope and integrity that he offers to humanity!"_

Annoying it was, especially since that book really belonged to Shidoh, an oaf of a god who probably didn't even realize that it was missing. Even though he only had probably less than ten years left to his cumulative lifespan. Anyway, that couldn't be helped.

_"Kira, He who has already made the world a better place..."_

Eh, who the crap was this guy, anyway? Ryuk turned his attention back to the podium, where a student of Japanese descent stood in business suit and dark-rimmed glasses.

_"He who is unafraid, an Angel of Justice..."_

Well, Misa was sure watching him intently. If Ryuk didn't know better (and he did), he would have thought that maybe she was in love.

_"Kira, it is you who is the new God!"_

Ryuk suddenly trembled, an uncontrollable grin spreading across his face. Damn, if Light was here, they'd both get a kick out of that! Back in the good old days, Light had expressed his intentions to make Kira a god-like figure, but even so they had laughed together when they saw Kira worshippers on television. Sure, Light definitely enjoyed that, but not even he could deny that it was _funny_... The kid wasn't here now, so Ryuk laughed all alone.

After the rally, he was surprised to see the Japanese student spot out Misa, and rush toward her with his briefcase in hand.

"Hally!" he greeted with a polite bow of his head. "I'm so glad that you could come."

Misa smiled her sugary blonde-model smile. "You were as well-spoken as ever. Kira was watching you, and I know that he approved."

The man's eyes widened slightly under his glasses, and he lowered his voice. "So you really do know the God, Hally?"

There was a delicate little giggle. "Consider me God's prophet, and if you listen to me then I can also make you a disciple. How does that sound, Mikami Teru?"

Immediately, Mikami fell to his knees. A gesture that was recognized in Japan, and completely alien in the United States - the utmost respect. But Ryuk was taken aback by the passion in his expression:

"I belong to him, heart and soul. I will do _anything_ that Kira asks."

* * *

_Light might have wondered if L had finally snapped under all the pressure and sudden disappointment of Higuchi's death, except that he was certain that the man was somewhat insane regardless. If he had been sane, he wouldn't be standing here outside in the pouring rain where he was sure to catch a fever._

_Not that it mattered. He would be dead soon, anyway._

_"Ryuuzaki, what are you doing out here?" Light asked. _

_"It's the bells. They're awfully loud today," came a soft response with the most peculiar look. It was as though the L in him was just a Halloween mask, but the falling raindrops had made such a thing soggy and transparent. All that was left was Ryuuzaki, a strange and almost otherworldly being. _

_Light couldn't place a finger on what was different about Ryuuzaki that made him suddenly so alien. He was _always_ alien, in his posture, words, eating habits, convictions... but this, this was different._

_"The conditions are favorable, so the sound is carrying," Ryuuzaki explained, not in the way that he annotated cases like a mathematical formula, but like a child making clear some new concept to another of the same age. "I wonder what it could be... a wedding? A funeral, perhaps?"_

_"I don't hear anything," Light said after straining his ears, unsure if the wrenching feeling he felt now was severe irritation at this pointlessness or a certain level of regret that... well, not like it mattered, the ball was already in motion and there was nothing to be done about it, even if he had reservations._

_Which he didn't._

_"You don't?" L looked at him through the oddest gaze. His unruly raven hair was plastered with water, framing his expression. The honesty of the question, unburdened by malice, caused Light to frown._

_And then he realized it. The thing that was alien _was_ that honesty. It was unsettling._

_"The bells..."_

* * *

_"Peuple français, peuple de frères,  
Peux-tu voir, sans frémir d'horreur,  
Le crime arborer les bannières  
Du carnage et de la Terreur?  
Tu souffres qu'une horde atroce,  
Et d'assassins et de brigands,  
Souille par son souffle féroce,  
Les territoires des vivants!"_

"Hey, what's that guy singing?" Light inquired with casual curiosity as they passed the performing Frenchman down the Paris street.

It was a battle revolutionary hymn. _French people, can you watch without shuddering as crime unfolds_? The ironic parallel to the Reign of Terror in the French Revolution next to Kira was something L might have found appropriate, if only this wasn't another pro-Kira rally. Instead of telling the truth, the detective glanced at Light and tersely replied, "It's a love song."

"That so?" The teen seemed to accept this explanation, nodding with disinterest. "So it's true that Paris is obsessed with love-making. Not that it's taken me this long to notice."

"No, Light-kun is smarter than that," L smiled. "You're a guest in my home country, so how about you show a little patronage?"

It was entertaining, if nothing else, saying such things and receiving a befuddled look from Light as a reward. Such perplexity was quickly remedied as the teen shot him a superior smirk. The straight-A Yagami student never liked to be second best, so he seemed to conceal his blush as he retorted, "Teach me how to say, 'you are beautiful' in French."

L raised thin eyebrows. "If you want me to flatter you in the language of the romantics, you need only to ask."

"I don't need your flattery," Light said distastefully, which briskly morphed into arrogance. "I'm making a wager. If you teach me that one line, I bet that I can get any girl in Paris between ages sixteen and thirty to kiss me."

The detective gaped, a finger hooked around his bottom lip. "This renders the perfect Light Yagami a prostitute."

"As they say, 'When in Rome,'" he answered smugly.

L blinked, and then continued to walk. "I do not appreciate you making such inappropriate remarks about Paris. It is a place of art and beauty." But Light chuckled, as though by these words he had won the wager - and gained a victory against L. Momentarily, L glanced at the adolescent again. "So what are the stakes?"

"I was willing to do it just for fun," the teen said lightly, giving a cocky grin. "But if you want to reward me when I succeed, that's fine, too. Give me your laptop."

"Laptop?" If L had ever had suspicions about whether or not Light was actually a paranoid mass murderer (which he didn't), that would have increased them. Light was only denying guilt now for courtesy's sake, and that in itself was somewhat comical. "I'm not sure if Light-kun's kiss is worth ten thousand US dollars."

Light smiled brilliantly. "I can get any of those girls to disagree with that resolution."

"Hmm…" L studied the adolescent's face as though he hadn't studied it a hundred thousand times before that. "How much is Yagami-kun worth? He has a pretty face, he's also well-bred and charming in romantic affairs. However he is currently looking quite thin and dirty from travel, so his dishonorable ulterior motives are quite obvious."

"What? _I'm_ thin and dirty?" Light said incredulously. "And what do you mean, how much I'm worth?"

"Thirty euros," the detective said decisively. "For the night."

The adolescent cleared his throat. He straightened his posture with arrogance, as though he suddenly had a level of social maturity incomprehensible to his companion. "If you're afraid to gamble, just say so. I'm betting you that I can make out with a girl, let's say for one full minute of time. Are you up for the competition or not?"

This kid really was a brat, L thought. A cocky teenaged brat. "Then I'll be taking your cell phone when you lose."

That was fair. Though the phone was obviously inferior to the computer in monetary worth, this was a gamble beyond cash value. Light knew that L was contacting Interpol with his laptop. L assumed that Light was also plotting by means of his cell phone.

"Fine by me," the aforementioned brat shrugged. "Also, I've changed my mind."

"About the stakes?"

"No. I can win this without saying a single thing."

L had already assessed that Light Yagami was the type of person who liked to bask in attention. Of course, with his intelligence, he possibly _deserved_ that attention but that didn't change the fact that he had a history of obsessively studying for tests and writing elaborate reports just to ensure that he was the best. Then there was the fact that the attention Kira was getting was clearly pleasing to him.

They hadn't walked much farther when they came across a group of young females passing the sidewalk in the other direction. The blonde girl became Light's victim. She was standing on the curb, facing the street and looking intently at the cars as though she were waiting for someone. Light tapped her on the shoulder, two quick but gentle collisions. The blonde immediately reacted by glancing around her shoulder, catching the adolescent's passionate irises. Her eyebrows raised in surprise, and when Light smiled at her, she turned her entire body toward him to offer a fuller attention.

And then Light, the conniving and manipulative fool that he was, went forward. L meticulously observed his movements as his lips brushed against the blonde's, and his hands fell to her waist. The girl's eyes widened like two baby blue saucers, staring at Light, and then her face seemed to smile even if her mouth was occupied. Eyelids closed, and her perfectly manicured hands wrapped around Light's back.

Well.

So much for the "I'd never manipulate a woman" hogwash that Light had fed L during the period that they were handcuffed.

Furthermore, this wasn't how Light usually kissed. Or, rather, it wasn't how Light had kissed L. L observed the act very curiously, and noticed how well-performed it was. It was refined and perfected, honed like a skill. But it wasn't real.

Not real at all.

"_Pardon, mademoiselle,_" L interrupted, hunching over near the sort-of couple. "_Il prefer a embrasser les garcons._"

The girl's baby eyes widened again, and suddenly she forcefully shoved Light backwards. She glared fiercely, and then with an offended "hmph!" she went on her way.

L didn't bother to hide a smug expression as Light scowled at him. "What the hell, Lawliet! I was enjoying myself there. And I also had fifteen seconds to go."

"Light-kun did not make any terms about halting any kind of interference on my part," L answered breezily. "And I had no desire give you my laptop."

"You wouldn't have given it to me anyway. You could've just let me have fun on my Paris vacation."

L bit his thumbnail. "It's not your Paris vacation. It's my Paris vacation. I'm funding all of your expenses - you've been bought and paid for by me. I see no benefit in sharing. Also, I do believe that I've won your cell phone."

"I don't have it," came the dramatic answer. "I lost it."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it for you, Light-kun."

"I'm not giving you a thing. You wouldn't have given me your laptop!"

"You can not prove that."

"It's in your personality."

"Such evidence does not work in court, unfortunately. Or else I would be a much more efficient detective."

"Drop it, I'm not giving it to you."

"We made a legal contract."

"No we didn't. Even if you did, you cheated!"

"I did no such thing. Don't be such a sore loser."

"No, _you're_ the sore loser, because I was about to win and you went and told the girl some half-assed thing-"

"To me, it was very funny."

"What the hell did you say?" Light demanded, crossing his arms.

He never had the chance to find out though, because at that moment they reached the entrance of one of the most renowned cathedrals in the world: the Notre Dame. And for a moment, they both had to stand and stare in silent awe.

_Quelle est cette lenteur barbare?  
Hâte-toi peuple souverain,  
De rendre aux monstres du Ténare  
Tous ces buveurs de sang humaine.  
Guerre à tous les agents du crime!  
Poursuivons-les jusqu'au trépas;  
Partage l'horreur qui m'anime,  
Il ne nous échapperont pas._

_Notre Dame de Paris_, a French Gothic masterpiece was as close and grand as L could get to bells in Paris. And a grand place it was. A lavishly constructed cathedral that was an even more fine tribute to ancient architecture than Roman Catholicism, its elaborate towers stretched into the sky. Stained glass windows colored the stony outside, and at the entrance where the pair of liars stood was a carved sculpture of the most famous of biblical myths.

"Adam, Eve and the serpent," Light identified as they lingered in the entry area, admiring the artwork.

"The serpent guards the Tree of Knowledge," L surmised. "Adam and Eve are the epitome of innocence, they are young and favored dearly by their God. The serpent is not human, however, and he tempts Eve to eat the fruit off of the tree. This fruit promises her superiority, enlightenment, a power above where she used to be."

"And so Eve falls to sin," the mass murderer added, almost sarcastically, when L paused for emphasis.

"And so Eve falls to sin," L agreed. "And she used her charms to make Adam follow her. But God was watching all, and he couldn't have such impure creatures in the Garden of Eden. So he banished them to a sinful world that suited them."

Light laughed out loud - laughed at the mythology, and laughed at the comparison that L was trying to make. "I don't know if I should be surprised that someone like you has read the Bible. Does that make you a Christian?"

L jammed his hands into his jeans pockets as continued into the cathedral, knowing that Light would follow. "I didn't read it. I glanced over a summary online during a particular case, where a highly religious man was murdering those he considered heretics, all while leaving a trail of biblical clues."

"How stupid," Light said flippantly. "Leaving clues, I mean."

The detective didn't answer. The competitive side of him wanted to say something snide along the lines of _some criminals know better than that, don't they, Light-kun?_ and another side of him had become depressed. The magnificence of the church only served to remind him of that convict who believed so strongly that in the end, a god would bring him to salvation. He believed with all of his being that if he prayed, he would be spared.

The United States judiciary system was who James Thompson should have been worried about though; he was behind bars and his execution date was pending.

"Joan of Arc," Light observed with a certain level of reserved awe, pointing to a statue as they continued inside the cathedral. "A martyr for her faith."

"Do you think so?" L asked thoughtfully. "Her persistent character annoys me and in the end, she accomplished very little. Not even her own country gave a damn about her when tensions rose, and as usual in these cases, politics were the priority. Whether or not some remote deity was pleased that she was pitifully burned at the stake is a fact that remains to be proven."

"A valid argument." The brunet nodded carelessly toward the statue. "Her life was pretty useless, though here, in the end her name has become immortal. They made her a saint."

L contemplated the figure. The architects had sculpted her into the shape of a beautiful woman, strong and unyielding with hands clasped in prayer. "Such a memorial does her little good when she's dead and unable to witness it."

"Maybe she was proud enough of her beliefs during her life, that she didn't care what the history books would say about her."

He was reminded briefly of their stay in Moscow, during one of their fights. An ill and delusional Light had screamed something at him, something about how people like to have beliefs. "I suppose. That's what religion asks for, doesn't it? Unyielding and unfounded faith."

Light chuckled. "An atheist isn't expected to understand."

"I understand," L said, too pensive to even bother sounding defensive. "But to be tortured and burned alive for it sounds as stupid as it does heroic. It seems to me that if one wants to believe in something and hold on to it until death, then it ought to be something more definite and realistic than religious ideals."

The altar of the cathedral was up ahead. A golden cross rose up, and even higher were the stain glass windows on the cylindrical wall behind it. L saw Light's Kira as clearly as that cross, inspiring the whole church to grovel in astonishment. Martyrs who named themselves servants of God, willing to do his bidding - however they interpreted such a thing to be - because the satisfaction of feeling righteous weighed more than the pain of torture.

The truth was that L did not understand. He did not understand blind beliefs, they were dangerous and wholly unproductive.

Blind beliefs. Gods? Mythology? _Names_?

And then the bells began to ring, signaling the time as noon:

**DING, DONG. DING, DONG.**

A massive choir of metallic chiming, from soprano tinkling to the booming of base. They were magnificent, yet painful, damned agonizing and loud.

**DING, DONG, DING**...

_The answer to everything is in the bells_, he had thought, always thought when he gave himself time to think. _The bells that proclaim everything stupid and righteous, on the sides of churches and temples and shrines, next to gods like Kira, or..._

_Everything sacred is just another game-_

_-a sort of reason that people crave to live._

_And they ring on the hour, forcing you to psychologically become Time's prisoner. _

_A holy caricature indeed._

"Ryuuzaki!" Light's alarmed voice cut through him. He realized that the younger boy's hands were on his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "You look like you're going to faint, what's going on?"

L blinked out of the trance he had fallen into and lowered his head - he had been staring up in the direction of where the noise was coming from. Like the feet of giants, stomping upon everything that made sense and distorting it into something terrible. His gaze moved to Light, whose amber eyes flickered in genuine confusion, maybe concern.

The adolescent's hands slid down L's arms, and then detached from his body completely. After a pause, Light told him, "There was a Shinto shrine with bells near my house. I used to go there and pray when I was a child."

"But you stopped."

"I stopped relying on gods to grant my wishes, and instead took on that responsibility for myself. Instead of praying that I might do well on a test, I study. Aren't you the same way?"

L stared at him and made no effort to hide it. Finally he turned his gaze back toward the golden altar. "I've been here before, when I was younger."

"With your family?" Light inquired.

"By myself," he corrected. "I came to Paris on my own, and that's where I met Watari."

"How old were you?"

"Seven."

The adolescent paused, looking a little puzzled and unsettled by this answer. "Seven? Then you..."

L gave him a sideways glance. "Yes, I was an orphan, if that's what you're trying to ask. My mother was fifteen and already a crack addict, and was impregnated by an unidentified male. The drugs made her rather sickly, and shortly after having me she disappeared, and a few months later they found her body. I lived with my only known family member, my grandmother. When she died of cancer, I was thoroughly orphaned. I was displeased with the initial orphanages, so in my early life I wandered France."

Light looked even more unsettled, as though racking his brain for the appropriate social conduct. "I'm very sorry, Lawliet," he finally said. "That makes sense that we came here, then, and I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"No," L disagreed and not out of kindness. In fact, something harsh was rising inside of him like the tide of an ocean. "France was never my final destination. I only wanted to see Notre Dame again because I am fond of it, nothing else. There are no mysteries here to solve, the answer is _it does not make sense_. Light Yagami can try to rationalize what he wants, but these circumstances are inane and to give them meaning is useless."

"I'm not rationalizing anything," came a hasty reply. "It's just a pity that such circumstances have to occur. Fifteen year old girls shouldn't be addicted to drugs and mothers shouldn't have to leave a child like Lawliet behind. I wish that we lived in a world where that didn't occur."

"Yes. An ideal world, correct?" he surmised with a ruthlessly calm demeanor. "A Garden of Eden where there is only goodness and righteousness."

Amber eyes flickered with irritation at this sarcasm. They narrowed, and Light said, "And why not? Why can't I wish that the world wasn't such a rotten place?"

"_Because Eden's not real, you damned child!_"

It was a sudden shout, and it earned them a few looks from other tourists. It rang and echoed throughout the cathedral, vibrating through the following silence.

Light stared at him first in surprised confusion, which hardened into aggression. Fierce and hot at this mockery of Kira. "I knew you were a very grounded person, L, and I had long since deduced that you reject the possibility of a utopia. But you've changed since Rem tried to kill you."

Even L was rendered to a stunned wordlessness that Light was daring to bring up such a thing.

"You were once quixotic, now you're a pessimist," he went on with brutally cold eyes. "I wonder if she killed you after all, right next to Watari."

"Are you really in the position to chastise me, _Light-kun_?" L said with twice the chill.

The subtle threat met its target, for not even Light Yagami could hide a twitch of fear at its implications.

It was unknown and irrelevant who had crossed the line first. But Light was the one who would have to retreat this time.

"I did not speak with the intent of chastising you, I was only observing," he said quickly in an apologetic tone that L had grown to recognize as absolutely insincere. "But I'm clearly treading on unwelcome personal grounds, so I'm going to give you some time alone."

L grit his teeth as his own childishness caused him to refrain from calling Light back as he turned around and walked away.

He couldn't go far. He had no where left to go. The pieces on the chess board were set, no matter what L or Light did at this point. Interpol was closing in like a wolf stalking a deer with a lame leg.

'Lawliet' wasn't the key player in this twisted saga. That was 'L'. And L wasn't the one who was going to protect the self-proclaimed Messiah who stood on the rising Tower of Babel up to the heavens, no, L was the one damning him back down to Earth.

In the end, it didn't matter whether or not he had his heroic intentions. Lawliet was a word like any other, to believe in or not to believe in. In the end, what counted were statistics and results.

On his way out of Notre Dame, he glanced again at Joan of Arc. Then with a sigh of displeasure, he dialed his cell phone.

* * *

_Représentants d'un peuple juste,  
O vous! législateurs humains,  
De qui la contenance auguste  
Fait trembler nos vils assassins,  
Suivez le cours de votre gloire.  
Vos noms chers à l'humanité,  
Volent au temple de mémoire,  
Au sein de l'mmortalité._

That bastard.

Light should have stayed in Tokyo all along. At least that way he would know what the hell was going on with the case. Yes, it might be dangerous to have Interpol watching him, but L had left. Light definitely had the support and confidence of everyone in the task force, and they would vouch for his innocence. Was playing defensively really such an absurd scenario? Even if the fake rules were proven false, that didn't necessarily conclude that Light had to be Kira. Evidence was still minimal, especially if they pursued the idea that Kira's powers can transfer from person to person. After all, it wasn't as though he were the one killing people right now.

He couldn't be convicted if there was no solid evidence.

...Right?

"Damn it." Light wasn't sure of anything anymore. What he needed was a plan.

Misa had claimed that she had found the perfect scapegoat. That was good, and maybe that would keep Interpol's attention for awhile. They would chase after this new Kira, and upon his arrest, Misa would kill him.

And then they would play that game again.

Misa could keep distributing Death Note pages, and Interpol would be overwhelmed. It would be ceaseless. Of course, that in itself wouldn't be enough to keep them away from Light and Misa if they ever found out that they were L's primary suspects... but...

Then, the pressure would multiply.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation had publicly backed out away from Kira when Light had killed Ray Penbar and the other twelve agents. Kira would therefore make it known that any agency who makes a stand _against_ the cause and actively tries to capture Kira would be sacrificed for the greater good. Even the NPA might have to be silenced in order for the statement to be made. Aizawa, Mogi, Ide, Matsuda. Even... even Soichiro, his father, if that's what it took.

As unpleasant as it was to think about, Light grit his teeth and pondered. The thing that made Light the best Kira was the fact that he was willing to make sacrifices, no matter how painful. Because in the end, all that mattered was that the world was a better place for the largest amount of people. That meant incessantly destroying offenders, and simultaneously those who tried to prevent him from doing so.

Kira had to establish a foundation to stand upon, one that was recognized by every governing body. After all, it was only the government who hated Kira. Light wasn't an idiot, he knew that in the safe confines of the public's hearts, they were praising their Savior's name. Once the foundation was established, then Eden-

"Light? Light Yagami?" It was a voice that shattered his thoughts. That was _his_ name, and the speaker was definitely not L.

Light didn't turn around right away, though he slowed his pace. No one should know that he was here. No one should know his real name, because he had never once been to France in his life. There were no connections. It could be the police, or some Interpol organization... what the hell had L done during this short separation?!

"_Bonjour_, kiddo!" the voice laughed, and it was friendly. "I never thought I would see you here in Paris. Fancy that!"

Slowly, he turned around to see the smiling face of a man in a violet dress shirt, sunglasses over his eyes blocking long strands of blonde hair from getting from marring his face. Tall, strong, and a criminal mastermind, it was none other than the con-man called Aiber.

"Why the glum face, Mr. Yagami?" Aiber said in English. "I hope you've been well, anyway! But I must insist, keep me company for awhile, it's not every day you run into an old co-worker."

Light's first reaction was surprise at running into the man - he did not even know that he was French when they worked together to catch the third Kira, Higuchi. A con man doesn't reveal much.

But being with a con man could be beneficial. If L were to call the police, what better place to hide than with another convict? A professional one, in fact, one that the law enforcement did not - _could _not - touch. He needed to buy more Time. This was a safety net, and that's why Light decided to follow Aiber to his Paris home.

Aiber's house might as well have been a smaller version of the _Sofitel le Faubourg_. Of course he was a con-man, Light remembered, and good enough of one for L to keep on his side. So logically, he would be quite well-off financially. The man himself gave a charming smile, pushing his sunglasses up along his slicked-back yellow hair and revealing kindly eyes.

"The young Mr. Yagami," he said in a voice like warm oil. "Welcome to my humble estate. I must admit that I'm surprised as can be to find you here in Paris. The last I heard of you, you were in Tokyo and asked me to trace down L's credit card accounts. Would you allow me to get you a glass of wine in exchange for a story?"

Light wasn't overly accustomed to drinking, in fact he had hardly had a drop of alcohol since he became Kira. But it was bad manners to reject a host's hospitality, and he had been raised better than that. "Thank you," he said. "Or should I say, _merci_."

"Ah, _très bien_, the genius knows my language," Aiber chuckled. "However, as you are my guest I will conform to your own language of Japanese, which if you remember from when we worked together, I speak fairly enough."

Light sat at Aiber's table anxiously as the man left to go find his wine.

"Champagne with the finest chardonnay," Aiber said when he returned, holding two glasses and a bottle. "In France, we have been exporting wine for hundreds of years. The best in all of Europe! Close your ears to Italy when they say that they rival us, also with the Spaniards. It takes grapes grown on French soil by French men to master such an exquisite drink."

"I'm not well-versed in wines," Light said, and it was true - he sipped his champagne and resisted the urge to gag. "But I believe you."

"Do you?" The con-man smiled winningly, flashing his white teeth. "The Japanese have _sake_, and that's fine - I do not find that it carries the same romance of our wines. However, it serves its purpose. Tell me, Mr. Yagami, what do you think that purpose is?"

Light shrugged and took another sip. His head hurt, he was anxious and paranoid as hell and had come to bad terms with his most bitter enemy. Aiber was still looking at him expectantly though, so he muttered, "To get drunk?"

"Ah, not so eloquently put, _mon cherie_, but still as correct as a genius such a yourself could be." Aiber's handsome features were as suave as his voice. His eyes lacked that offensive intensity that L often wielded, instead they were a soft - and thoroughly manipulative - understanding. "Alcohol is the sweetest and strongest friend in the world to mankind. Provided that one has a bottle, wine will always be there to soothe you, to take you on an adventure. It can enhance romance, it can replace romance. People have been drinking for thousands of years and will continue to drink so long as there is alcohol to consume."

"Yes... it can be addictive, can't it?" Light contributed dully to the conversation. He did not support an alcohol-dependent lifestyle, such a thing often lead to the crime that he purged.

"Addictive?" Aiber leaned forward, raising his glass. "It's a _savior. _What else besides alcohol can truly save a human being from his troubles? I'm a con-man, Mr. Yagami, and you are a policeman's son. We both know that humans can't be trusted. We're a backstabbing species, they do it, we do it. And the world is a cruel place for the unlucky ones. The gods are not merciful, but they gave us one companion that will never fail us. So I ask you again, why do people drink?"

"To... forget about those troubles," the adolescent answered tentatively, but with honesty. "To forget about the ticking clocks."

Aiber's next smile was almost predatory. "_Oui_, my friend. That was much more poetic. Keep this up and I'll make you an honorary Frenchman."

A silence followed, and Light took another sip. If only it were that easy. Kira couldn't afford to slip up and get drunk. He couldn't afford to take a break, because a moment's hesitation meant the death penalty. Contrarily, moving forward would always be a step closer to the world's salvation - why did it seem so _easy_ at first, when he first explained it all to Ryuk? Damn it all. Some things really were more quickly said than done.

"How about a story from you, Mr. Yagami?" the con-man asked. "Why are you absent from Tokyo, and does your father know you're here?"

"I'm traveling with a friend," Light said plainly, though that was a lie grand enough to damn him to hell if he ever heard one. "Through an exchange program in my college."

"Ah, that's not the full truth. You're melancholy. You must elaborate for me."

"There's not much more to say," he answered briskly.

"Alright, alright," Aiber laughed. "Keep your secrets. But I advise you, drink to your sorrows and they won't seem so bad. Think of it as an offering to Dionysus, god of wine. Pray to him for your troubles and he will be gentle."

_Pray to him_.

L, at the church. L, under the bells. L, out of his sight, doing only a god knew what.

Light was filled with a hardened resolve. He slammed the glass back down on the table. "I'm sorry, Aiber-san. Thank you for your hospitality, but I don't have the time for this."

Aiber stood up slowly as Light did. Light bowed once out of respect, and turned around to leave the way that he came. He intended to find L, for all that he had been the one who left. If the detective had his cell phone on, he could just call, either way-

"Actually, kiddo, you're staying here."

But the world is cruel.

Something hard jabbed Light in the back, and after a split second of intoxicated confusion, he froze. A cylindrical shape, cold and metallic. His heart had stopped beating, and when it began again, it was pounding far too fast. Slowly, Light turned his head around.

Aiber dug the barrel of his handgun into Light's ribs. "Yes, that's right, please don't move because I will shoot you through the heart. My plan was to use my charms to get you drunk before we took this route, but you're as impatient as ever."

The color drained out of Light's face and he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickling. "Aiber-san, I don't understand," he said with an attempt at calmness.

"There's a whole underworld that you don't understand," Aiber grinned, flashing his white teeth. "Kira can easily kill the petty lawbreakers, but honorable criminals like myself are more sophisticated than that. Now, put your hands in the air slowly. Behave and it'll be easier on you."

"You misunderstand, Aiber!" Light insisted. "I'm _not_ Ki-"

The words ended in a grunt when Aiber slammed the barrel into his ribs again. The con-man said, "Yes, yes. That's what we all say: _it's not me, I'm innocent_, but we are all liars. But as long as L says you're Kira, no one except your daddy is going to disagree. Are you going to play nice, kiddo?"

_L sold me out. But why to a criminal? _Was this his sick idea of irony? When and how did Aiber get involved? This was planned, it was all _planned_! Had he really been stupid enough to think that the con-man just happened to run into him in a city as huge as Paris?

Had he really been stupid enough to think that a criminal had invited Kira to his house on friendly terms?

Aiber pulled a set of handcuffs that had been tucked in his belt underneath his dress shirt. The adolescent grimaced as his arms were twisted painfully behind his back, and the steel was snapped on his wrists. His mind was racing in a frightened frenzy: what was going on? Would Aiber be handing him over to the police? If so, Light would have to plead that he didn't know what was going on. But Aiber was a criminal, would he tangle himself in law enforcement?

He couldn't believe it. No, he _could_, but now that it was happening, everything was surreal. His mind was racing: Aiber didn't have _proof_, did he? What had L said? Momentarily he pushed away from the con-man, only to be grabbed roughly and have the gun jabbed into his side.

"You lead a fun chase, Kira," Aiber murmured into his ear. "You killed some of my friends on your little holy crusade, and you were a thorn in a lot of sides. An annoying enough of a thorn among the underworld that a mafia group offered me twelve million for you alive. I can't promise that you will have much fun with them, but I'm certain it won't be _too_ long before they allow you to die. _C'est la vie, mon cherie, _such is life."

* * *

French people, people of brothers,  
Can you watch, without shuddering in horror,  
As crime unfurls its banners  
Of Carnage and Terror?  
You suffer an atrocious horde,  
Of assassins and brigands,  
Soiling with its savage breath,  
The lands of the living!  
What is this barbaric languor?  
Sovereign people, hurry  
To return to the monsters of Tenairon  
All these drinkers of human blood.  
War against all those who practice this crime!  
Hound them to the death;  
Share the horror that impels me,  
They shall not escape us.  
Representatives of a just people.  
O you! humane legislators,  
Whose august countenances  
cause our vile assassins to tremble,  
Follow the path of your glory,  
Your names, beloved by humanity,  
Rush to the temple of remembrance,  
In the bosom of immortality.

* * *

Author's Notes: 

1. Desideratum lives!!! Hooray! No, okay, sorry guys for the slow update. For whatever reason, the last month and a half of summer slaughtered my muse. Clearly my mind was not engaged enough for writing inspiration, but now I'm in college and I'm filled with determination. It's not the plot that's the problem - I've had the main plot written out ever since I started writing this fic in April. Some details are newly developed, but the ending is inevitable.

2. "Il prefer a embrasser les garcons" - L told the girl that Light preferred to kiss boys.

3. Tower of Babel - in Biblical myth, humans united to use their skills to construct a tower that would reach up to Heaven.

4. The song is a French revolutionary song (the translation is at the end).

5. Raise your hand if you want me to update sooner than in another month and a half! Ha, ha.

Extended thank-you goes out to reviewers and subscribers. When I lose inspiration it's lovely to receive feedback and hear exactly what you guys think. Cheers! -Serria


	11. Incentive

**DESIDERATUM, Chapter 11**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**Incentive**

* * *

"No one can hear you down here if you yell," Aiber remarked as he shoved Light down onto the ground. "But even so, as a common courtesy I'd appreciate it if you kept your voice down." 

With a gun pressed into his back, Aiber had lead Light through a corridor and down a flight of stairs. He had opened the heavy oak door into the wine cellar, large and underground and empty except for the shelves of wine bottles themselves. When Light was down on the wooden floor, the con-man immediately retrieved another pair of cuffs from the pocket of his dark slacks and tethered his ankles together.

Light struggled to a sitting position as Aiber reached into his pocket for a cigar and a lighter. "Aiber-san, this is wrong! I'm not Kira! Kira has been killing, the killings continue and I haven't touched a Death Note since I examined the evidence from Higuchi. There is no conclusive proof against me. I know you aren't a bad man, Aiber, please think logically!"

Aiber inhaled his cigar, then removed it from his mouth with one hand, blowing out a smooth trail of smoke with a poised smile. "No, Light. I'm a bad man, a very bad man. And I bet you want to kill me right now, eh?"

That was not the kind of thing that was in Light's best interest to admit. "I don't want to kill anyone, all I want to do is clear my name and live in peace."

"Live in peace? You never wanted that." Aiber knelt down in front of Light, smirking brilliantly. He put the cigar back between his lips and nonchalantly held up his lighter, flicking the switch until a flame burned silently in front of Light's nose. Immediately, Light squirmed backwards, but Aiber's free hand grabbed his shirt collar and held him at the uncomfortably short distance from the fire. "You wanted adventure and excitement, didn't you, kiddo? Let's be honest. You were _bored_. Not that I blame you, you and I are really in the same boat. A mediocre life is a rotten waste, so why not spice things up a little? Just _look_ at how pretty the fire is..."

The con-man moved the flame even closer to Light's face, so close that he felt the burning heat radiate onto his skin.

"But the rule among lawbreakers is, play with fire and you might get burned. You haven't anyone to blame but yourself." Aiber's smile widened but his eyes narrowed. The burning lighter went suddenly was shoved underneath the adolescent's chin.

"Aghh!" Light yelped, tossing his head up to escape the taste of Hell searing at his skin.

Aiber chuckled then, and flicked the lighter off. "Ah, I'm not that bad of a man. And I'm not about to spoil the goods for Snyder and his lads, they were quite thrilled about receiving the first Kira alive and in one piece."

Light resisted the urge to retch as he watched Aiber stand up and casually toss the lighter into the air, and then catch it again as though it were as innocent as a baseball. He grinned at the look on the young criminal's face, and set the incendiary device on one of the shelves.

"Don't worry, if you behave yourself with me, I'll be glad to return the treatment."

He went to the heavy door, where there was a light switch. His hand traveled to it, and he smiled for the last time at Light Yagami. "So how about you have a nap? You might not get such a nice opportunity to relax again."

The lights went out, the door closed, and the cellar was completely black.

* * *

The old proverb runs something along the lines of, "Men in this world are motivated by two things: sex and money." 

Aiber was a man of business.

It wasn't as though he needed money, or favors, or allies. He already had millions of dollars in various accounts around the world. He had a beautiful French wife, who he loved dearly, and he had two young children that attended the finest boarding school in Paris. Aiber could have retired at any moment – in fact, he could have retired years ago and still lived a life of comfort and enjoyed an abundance of wealth. He would have been safer that way, despite the enemies he had made over the years, and his family would have been safer as well.

But somewhere along the road, the people you love become expendable in favor of adrenaline's addictive quality.

And there was still a profit to be made from lying.

Tierry Morello was born to a well-off family in Marseille. He was fluent in five languages by the time he entered university, and he doubled that amount by the day he left it. On the day that he brought Light Yagami over to his estate, he knew seventeen. The number of identities that he operated under was comparable in quantity to L, and many names had retired from the playing board after charges of fraud, thievery, kidnapping, murder accomplice, and other such unfavorable reputations. Tierry knew how to contact all of the key players in the underworld, from mafia to street gang, from terrorist to politician. The world was about interactive networks, and there were few who could navigate this web with as much ease as he.

His skills and knowledge earned him not only his freedom but his continued operation on the day he was finally tracked down by L for money laundering. His alliance with L was an exchange of favors – L would withhold the irrefutable evidence against him, and Tierry would act as Aiber, expert con-man, whenever the detective needed him.

"_Meet Aiber. He takes in all aspects of social interaction and becomes close to his targets. He can drastically change his personality to meet any need and can expertly manipulate human emotion,_" was how he had been introduced to the NPA in Tokyo. "_He's a c__riminal, but not the type who would make himself public and get judged by Kira. Think of him as a professional of the underworld, if you may."_

Not even he had foreseen that he would have the opportunity to meet L face-to-face.

Everything in this world had a price on it, and L was no exception. If Aiber were to actually grace a short period of time with truthful words, then he would have been forced to admit that even at that time – to a man he was in debt to – he wondered who would pay the most handsomely for L's head. But backstabbing L was pointless, because L and Watari were pegs on a circuitry that was more powerful than Interpol and the underworld combined. It was ludicrous to take a business action that would inevitably result in losses, both financially and physically. Besides, at the time, L and the underworld, and Interpol too, had similar interests. Another proverb runs, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

Kira was a pain in a lot of asses. It was no mystery that the only human who could track down this vigilante god was L. Interpol and the underworld knew this fact awfully damned well.

"_Monsieur_ _Morello_." It was heavily scrambled through a microphone and software, but there was an monotonous drone in the voice that labeled it as his part-time employer. "_Have you located the package?_"

"I've never failed you before, have I, my friend?" Aiber chuckled. "It's all taken care of."

"_Though I hope it is in safe condition_."

"Very safe, very secure. Come meet me for brandy, _monsieur_, and see for yourself. Your package is neatly wrapped and ready for postage."

This reply was immediate: "_On the contrary, airmail prices are too high these days. I've always thought so_."

Aiber hesitated, not quite discerning L's reasoning, and he replied in the same cryptography. "You don't have to worry about the financial situation, it's on my credit card and consequences will only affect my bank account."

"_I appreciate the high regard you hold me in, but those services_-"

Whatever L had been about to say, it was lost on Aiber, because all of the sudden a deafening blaring howled through the rooms.

**BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP**

What the...?

"Gotta go," he hastily dismissed his phone, hanging it up and standing to make some sense of what was going on.

* * *

The consternation that submerged Light like an icy splash of water was like nothing he had ever felt. The events didn't register, nothing made sense. Genuine terror filled him, almost like the terror he felt when L had Misa arrested all of those months ago, or when L had announced over television that Lind L. Taylor was not he but a stand-in and now he knew that he was in Kanto, Japan. The only thing he could see before him was an inevitable downfall and no, _no he didn't want to die..._

But the thing about humans is, sometimes they are the most extraordinary when faced with danger. The rush of adrenaline fills them like a drug, and in Light's case, his most ingenious plans were composed when he knew the stakes were high. As such, gradually his mind began to clear, and everything was objective. Factors had to be calculated like any problem on an exam. When everything became a mathematical formula, and he was passioned by the will to endure, he was nothing less than brilliance incarnate.

Tick, tick.

He was still wearing his wristwatch.

He felt it with his fingers, the still smooth and glossy surface of the glass that guarded the numbers. His most treasured possession, because a piece of the Death Note was locked safely inside this machine that charted Time. Obviously, he could not kill Aiber that way. The only name he knew to call the criminal was an alias, and even if it wasn't, the man's death at this point wouldn't emancipate him from the problem.

Actually, Light realized, his graduation present held a tool that was, at this moment, even more useful.

Fumbling with the screw from behind, he was able to open the mechanism and he pulled out the pin. It was the same pin that he had used to prick his finger and write Higuchi's name in blood would find a new purpose.

He jammed the shim into the pawl of the steel and for a few minutes he tinkered with the mechanics. Handcuffs weren't unfamiliar to him – his father was a cop, after all, and he had been aiming for the same profession since childhood. And for Kira to know how the restrictive device worked (and unworked) had never seemed like a bad idea. Eventually, he finally picked release on the ratchet of cuff on his right hand. He winced and shuddered as his veins were liberated from the crushing sensation of the metal, but wasted no time in working off the restraints on his ankles. This device he completely removed after a few minutes of tinkering with the pawl on each side. The needle-thin pin was effective against the locks, efforts retarded only slightly by Light's shaking arms.

When the task was completed, Light secured his watch back in place and stood up, immediately traveling toward where the light switch was. He swallowed, and then flipped it on to awaken the bulbs that hung from the ceiling. The door itself was locked from the outside, as he had expected, and kicking at it would be as productive as attacking a wall.

Using the sharp steel of the open handcuff still dangling from his left wrist, he sliced a strip of fabric off of his shirt.

"_Make one wrong move, Light, and you could get burned,_" Ryuk had told him once, more out of amusement than friendly advice. At that time, he had created a sensitive incendiary contraption right in his bedroom desk in an effort to hide the Death Note. The Shinigami was right. One stupid move and everything would go up in flames.

But as always, it was better than the death penalty. This was no different. It had always been dangerous, but if he let that scare him off, he would never be able to bring Justice to the world. He took a deep breath and made his way to the shelf across from him, where bottles of wine were neatly lined up in rows. Grasping forward, his fingertips finally touched the prize he had been looking for – the silver lighter that Aiber had taunted him with not long ago.

_Make one wrong move and you could get burned._

There were a number of ways to start a fire. All it was was an oxidation process, the result being intense heat and light. Combustion was a state of being that any proper fuel could ascend to. The ironic thing about it was that alcohol was a depressant. It slowed the central nervous system by releasing the neurotransmitter gamma-aminobutyric acid (GABA). Speed of mental functioning decreases, as does physical reflex. The resulting feeling is drowsiness, relaxation, a lethargic escape from reality – whatever that was. It is an escape from the ticking clocks.

Alcohol is also _highly flammable_.

The cloth was stuffed tight in the throat of a tall bottle. Light clicked down the switch of the lighter, and the small flame licked against the fabric, spreading its glory once it had accepted the sacrifice. He set the bottle down on the shelf farthest from the door, by the neat little row of other bottles, all full of their deceptive elixir. Then, covering his face, running to the wall in the opposite direction, the seconds before the burning of the cloth reached the catalyst-

BOOM.

Of course, with nothing aside from the alcohol's ethanol and the built-up pressure from the corked bottles in the surrounding area, the explosion itself wasn't phenomenal. What Light was counting on was that there was alcohol everywhere in the cellar to feed the fire, that there had been a noise that could be heard from outside of the cellar and the shelves were made of wood, and therefore were now burning. Aiber's estate was rich and full of technology designed specifically to keep the thrill-seeking con-man safe – as such, smoke detectors and a fire alarm must have been a necessity.

The flames were roaring across from him, and Light used one hand to lift his shirt over his mouth as meager protection against the smoke, and he grabbed an unspoilt bottle as meager protection against whoever opened the door to investigate. Of this, he had not a doubt, because the entire equation relied on one simple, albeit rotten law of the corrupt: The world is a network of business, and one should always seek to make a profit. Light knew, with a twisted feeling in his gut, that at this point he was worth quite a bit financially to Aiber if he was alive. And somehow, as he stood in front of the door, waiting for it to open when Aiber came to investigate the status of his twelve million Euro prize – somehow, a mad grin spread across his face.

There was the sound of a key entering the keyhole, and Light braced himself by raising the bottle he was holding into the air. Aiber had to die. Merely escaping wasn't good enough, Aiber had to _die_.

When the door was open, Light nearly jumped when he saw not the conniving criminal but a woman. Young, attractive and wide-eyed, small-bodied and a shocked look painted on her features. Aiber's wife, maybe? It was hard to think that outlaws like that bastard actually married.

"_Mon dieu!_" the woman whispered, raising a delicate hand to her mouth.

"Don't scream!" Light demanded hastily, his mind racing, weighing out the factors with the consequences.

But the woman's mouth opened and her pupils dilated in her fear.

Panicked, Light did the first wretched thing that came to mind – he swung the bottle he was holding through the air and sent it shattering into her blonde hair. There was an awful crashing sound, and there was blood, that had to be _blood_ mixed in with the pool of red wine. The body fell to the ground in a heap (no, don't say body, she's alive for God's sake, she's alive, right?), hair tangling, clothes stained, _limp_...

Oh, God...

The flames were dancing behind him and smoke curled in a heavy fog. His feet pattered against the stairway out of the basement and across the carpet of the corridor, running away from the fiery Hell and the woman who was definitely only unconscious on the ground.

"Ha... ha, ha..."

In his right hand, he held the remnants of the bottle by the throat, glass shards protruding into a weapon that could pierce skin. In his left hand, the handcuff dangled from his wrist and he clutched the other open cuff. The pointed steel of the open end was as good as a knife.

_Aiber, I'm gonna kill you with my bare hands. I'm going to cast judgment...!_

* * *

**BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.**

The fire alarm was shrieking in consistent, perfectly periodical blares.

"What the... Gotta go."

Aiber stood up from the leather couch, his eyes narrowing as he hung up the phone. His first thought was that Kal Snyder had opted not to go through the bother of paying him, and instead wanted to nab Kira for free. Subsequently, the mafia chief had started a fire in Aiber's estate and was using that distraction to steal the prize. Yet that was illogical, because security alarms hadn't gone off, only the fire alarm (when he had them installed, he specifically set them to separate tones for purposes of differentiation).

That meant that the alarm had to be attributed to someone, or _something _from inside the estate.

Excessive paranoia was also a waste of time, he reminded himself. Most likely, Colette had burned her toast again. That had happened more than once – yet paranoia in small doses is what kept a con-man alive (and thriving, for that matter).

He exited his office and began down the stairs toward the kitchen.

_Crash._

It was the noise of something shattering, he discerned. Momentarily he pictured scenarios... Colette had burned her toast and then in surprise at the fire alarm, she knocked her glass on the floor. But Colette was cool-minded, that was not like her. Yet the security alarms remained absolutely silent...

_...Merde._

"Oh, you _fils de chienne_," Aiber growled as he rapidly reached the unhappy realization. "_Ne me fais pas avaler ça_...!"

Immediately, he darted in the direction of the cellar, through the long hallway. As he did, his hand traveled to his belt, where he felt the metal of his handgun at his fingertips-

But that hand was suddenly pierced by something sharp and metal, stabbing into it.

Aiber couldn't restrain himself from gasping at the unexpected agony, and he immediately pulled the hand in retreat, noticing that the steel had been jammed right through his palm. The blood gushed out everywhere, and his gaze lingered there only for a second until he looked up to see Kira, holding a broken bottle and the open handcuff, eyes wide at the damage he had done but his lips curved as though he had every intention of doing it again.

"Come on, kiddo. Put the bottle down," Aiber said slowly, raising his hands in defeat. "You don't know how to kill. You don't want to know how to kill."

"Are you crazy?!" Light's eyes were red, perhaps reflecting the blood or perhaps on their own accord. "Aren't I Kira, Aiber? Isn't that why I'm here?"

Aiber hesitated. "You've won, Light. I'll let you go. Just put the bottle down and head out the door. I won't follow you."

Light's pale face froze. Features, still, in place. Then his narrowed eyes began to widen, and along with that, his lips curved upward.

"Let me go, Aiber? Yeah?" It was a grin on his face now, a grin that was wild and feral. "And no one will follow me, huh, Aiber?"

"You have my word, I promise," Aiber said tersely.

"Ha... ha, ha! Hahaha!" Laughter erupted out of his throat, a painful and raw sound that was nothing short of madness. "The promise of a liar!"

The con-man's face was twisted, without a lie to offer.

"You won't stop following me. No one will."

_Those who oppose God are Lucifer. And Lucifer must be damned to hell, right next to the sinners._

"Light, put it down!" Aiber hastily said. "God, you're just a kid!"

_God is a child._

"Y-you'd follow me." Light's voice was coarse and unsteady. "You're trying to kill me. It's only self-defense, that's all."

"We'll make a deal!" he hissed out, raising his hands higher.

"Don't move!" Light shrieked, thrusting the broken bottle forward toward the man's neck threateningly. "I'm serious!"

At that moment, Aiber had cast an analysis of who and what Light Yagami was, and constructed a theory as to what act would yield the best results. His face morphed. Aiber morphed. Delicately he put on a mask of helplessness, beseeching into the reluctant teenager's eyes. "I have a wife and children. They love me..."

"Shut up!"

"Ah, you have family too, right? Money, Light. The world is about money. Twenty-five million yen could appear in your father's bank account as early as tomorrow morning. With that money, he wouldn't have to work so hard, would he, Light? He wouldn't have to waste away at work, he would be at home for you and Sayu."

Light was shaking, but with what emotion was unknown even to him.

"I'm right, aren't I? Soichiro was always at the police station working. No time to see his own son. I can change that. I can change anything you want to be changed, Light. I can get you what you want. So why would you kill me?"

Red eyes brimmed with something holy, something divine or perhaps maniacal.

"Why would I kill you, Aiber?" came the voice, twisted and out of control. "Because _you deserve to die!_"

When a wretched, harsh sound ripped out of his own throat, the detached and logically-minded part of Light Yagami knew that he was ready to kill this man. He was going to slit his throat with the glass shards, and he would run to safety before the criminal had even finished bleeding in his elimination. It was wild and barbaric but he was certain that he was capable of it, after all, how was killing a man with one's own hands any different than killing him from the safety of one's bedroom? They die all the same, and death is equal...

Yet as he advanced the weapon, he hesitated, his mouth twisting and tight when he stared at Aiber in his piercing blue eyes...

At that brief moment of questioning, Aiber's undamaged hand shot forward and grabbed Light's wrist, yanking it backwards and twisting. Light snarled and swung his other hand, the one with the knife of a handcuff-

_Click._

"Gentlemen, let's value sophistication," the unmistakable drawl of Lawliet sounded. Even though it was calm almost to the point of lazy, it was a siren in the war field and everything else became hushed. "Let's not squabble as though we've only fists and not brains at our disposal."

The first rational thought that punctured Light's brain was _you son of a bitch, you deserve to die even more. _Judging by the forced look on Aiber's face, he was thinking the same thing. The con-man's eyes were no longer on him but were looking behind Light to where the gangly detective was likely standing – and the clicking sound was definitely the battle cry of a handgun. He was well familiar with that ominous noise. Because he knew all of this, he did not turn around, his wrist was still caught in the criminal's hand and he did not want to risk apprehension.

Surprisingly, L opted to solve the problem of this arrangement immediately. "Aiber-san, if you would be so kind as to release Light-kun?"

But Aiber was a man who took orders from no one without payment. Light grit his teeth as the hand constricted even more tightly around his wrist. "L?" he asked incredulously. "Are you daft, _monsieur_? What could you possibly be thinking?"

"Oh, as always, my thoughts are strictly confidential under protection of Interpol," L chatted casually, lifting one foot to scratch his leg. "Thanks for the support in this particular case, but I will continue to travel with Light Yagami by my side. Please lower your weapon, too."

Seeing that Aiber had been using his wounded hand to inconspicuously draw his own gun, Light thrust his left hand in that direction. Aiber chose to let the weapon clatter to the floor, but immediately disregarded L's other command and snatched Kira's dangerous limb. He did not even glance at his hostage as he addressed the detective with a unsettlingly cordial tone. "With all due respect, _monsieur_, the deal is already set. I signed a contract and I have every intention of holding up my end of the bargain, by delivering Kira to a group who very much wants to meet him."

L shook his head, raven locks of hair brushing against his forehead. "You're too accustomed to bargaining with chips that don't belong to you. I don't hold this against you, that's why you are useful to me. Yet, to do what you want to do is useless. The theory that Light Yagami is Kira is still very indeterminate."

"Don't be a fool," Aiber remonstrated, and as he was speaking he began forcing Light's arm's closer together with the purpose of reapplying the handcuffs. "Your word is sufficient proof to anyone on both extremes of the world."

"Unfortunately, Aiber-san has no proof of my word," L answered mournfully. "I know you have video cameras installed in your house, but I've disabled them for my own security. I can't publicly endorse any statement until I'm certain, and Light Yagami's guilt is only at 54 percent chance right now."

"_Salaud_," the man remarked in disbelief. "You give me Kira and take him away, you break into my house with a gun, and you insult my way of business..."

"I am what I am. I will pay you for your efforts. I should hate to lose Aiber as a partner due to miscommunication."

Then the man chuckled, a dark sound. With a heavy push of his arms he released Light to the point of shoving him backwards. "Not at all, L. By all means, take the boy. But I hope to expect more faithfulness in future business operations."

L smiled and lowered his handgun from Aiber and down to Light's head. "I apologize for the inconvenience."

"Now, if you'll please pardon me. See yourself out." The con-man clutched his bleeding hand and stalked off.

The detective leaned down and promptly grabbed Light's arm to help him to his feet as soon as Aiber was out of sight. He pulled upward, but Light flipped around, made a fist, and punched L upside the chin. L's head tossed backwards as he blinked in surprise.

"Ow... Yagami-kun!"

"You son of a bitch!" he snarled, face flushed, the curses as jagged and sharp as the shards of glass he brandished. "Even by your own standards – the lowest, wretched thing...! Did you call this investigation?! Were you gonna see if I killed that bastard like Kira would?!"

L recovered, but as he turned his head back upright, he met again with Light's fist at his mouth. The bottom lip caught against a hard tooth, and it ripped.

The detective understood the concept of 'one for one' but apparently, drawing blood crossed the line. He raised the handgun that was still in his grasp and paraded it forward with vigor into the younger man's chest, a blank expression on his pale face. At the gesture, Light lowered his hands, looking poisonous.

"We have to leave now, Light-kun," L said, deadpan.

Light's eyes flashed a dangerous crimson as his adversary uttered the command. His jaw tightened, and he pursed his lips as in a few brief seconds his mind weighed out the situation. After a moment, the fire in his expression cooled to ice, and he shrugged, collecting the pieces of his panicked self and stacking them back into reservation.

"Aiber's calling the police right now about the fire, is that so? In Paris that gives us about five minutes to get out of here, because neither of us wants to be here for questioning."

"Yes," L agreed. "Which is why-"

"Which is why I'm going to Aiber's office to get my phone and wallet. He took them from me. If my identification is there, I might as well let them take me into custody when _he_ tells them I'm Kira."

L didn't hesitate – Light knew he wouldn't, the repercussions were quite blatantly chaos if the French police confiscated Light's things. In particular, the cell phone was a problem, because there were NPA numbers on speed dial, right next to the fake ID with the name 'Raye Misora'. The alias and the Japanese National Police Agency together was a combination just asking for foreign relations to become aggravated, not to mention Aiber's possible claim of Light being Kira. L did not want to mess up the investigation he had accomplished thus far, contrarily he worked neatly and precisely.

The brunet broke off into a run in the direction that he remembered, and like his armed bodyguard, L sprinted after. The pair swiftly flew through the hallway, silent, not even their breaths making noise under the blaring of the ceaseless fire alarm.

Aiber was there in his office, phone in hand. When he saw them, he lifted his nose and slowly lowered the receiver.

"Ah... where did you put it?" Light asked, eyes darting around the room until they landed right on Aiber's desk. Carelessly he strode forward while L waited in the door frame, making the handgun visible. His emotions were contained on a neutral as he shoved his wallet back into his pocket after opening it briefly and checking for contents. Then his phone – he also opened this briefly as though he were checking for missed calls.

"We're seeing ourselves out now, Light-kun," L annunciated sternly from behind.

Still facing Aiber, Light risked the smallest of smirks. The man saw it but said nothing, he simply watched as the two men turned to go.

"And _adieu,_" Aiber called as they made their way into the hallway, bitter resentment staining his well-spoken French.

Light clutched his phone as he and L very shamelessly ran through the grand estate, now holding their breaths from the smoke in the atmosphere. The building was burning, and as they ran through the night streets they hid their faces from any unwanted witnesses. The handcuff was still dangling off of Light's wrist like a picture-book convict, yet removing it would have to wait. If he opened his watch to retrieve the metal pin that he had used to pick the cuffs last time, L would see the piece of Death Note hidden away. Like fire, the double-edged sword offered to yield both salvation and downfall, and if Light wasn't careful, he would get burned.

* * *

L controlled an existence that had always been governed by logic. The world, daunting and elaborate as it might be, could be broken down into biology, which can be simplified into chemistry, which is ultimately derived from mathematics. Complex numerical formulas were nothing more than simple equations compiled. In the end, Earth wasn't, by this reasoning, any more intricate than addition, multiplication, subtraction and division. In the end, everything made sense. 

Which didn't explain why it... didn't.

Mathematics and neuroscience were not enough on that day, weeks ago, when the question of _humanity_ infected L's mind. Chemical reactions in the brain were not a satisfactory explanation as to what on earth _emotion_ was. And numbers would not tell L what it meant to be alive, they only assured him that such a thing as 'life' was present. Before, embracing logic had been enough, it advised him to optimum strategy. The ability to keep impartial had made him the greatest detective in the world.

Subsequently, the decision to detain a suspect who was tailing him, waiting for the opportunity to move in for the murder, had been more than warranted. Especially since he was going to the place that had to remain strictly confidential... Wammy's House. A simple orphanage on the outside, and a haven for the most brilliant children in the world on the inside. No one could know about its association with L or Watari, and it was common sense that a prime mass murder suspect should never be exposed to such an institution.

Aiber was the most rational choice. If L had chosen any branch of the law, there would be Interpol to deal with. The con-man may not be trustworthy but L was fully capable of controlling him, bribery and blackmail were options that kept most of his underworld employees in line.

And yet, when the moment came down to it - it was suddenly more distressing to leave Light behind.

"I need something," Light said in a detached tone as he locked the hotel door, examining the cuff that was still encircling his wrist. "A pin."

"How did you get the other one off?" L asked with mild curiously as picked up the glass next to the sink and filled it to the brim with ice water. With expert balance, he made his way across the room toward the coffee maker that was plugged in and ready for service.

"It wasn't properly secured."

"Ah..." the detective murmured. "How lucky."

Again, they were quiet as Light went through his bag, a dangerously calm look etched on his angular face, looking for something to pick the lock. L opened the upper chamber of the machine and poured in the water, pressing the red button heat it up. Then he quite unabashedly turned to his younger companion and watched him, thumb pressed against his lower lip as Light searched in vain for something useful.

Finally, Light could take it no more. His face snapped upward and met L's gaze for glare.

"So what did you accomplish, L?"

The detective chose that moment to shift his attentions back to the coffee and ripped open the packet of coffee grounds, holding it delicately with two fingers and pouring the contents into the filter. "Waste all your time being mad, and you'll never see anything objectively."

"Are you saying I shouldn't be mad?"

"Yes." When Light's face darkened all the more, L innocently annotated, "From the day when you called Aiber back in Tokyo, he's been making plans to apprehend you. It shouldn't be a surprise to you, any seasoned con artist would be interested. We would have to confront this eventually. He was one of the reasons I had you use a false identification in the first place."

"Is that so?" Light lashed out, striding forward. "What exactly did you accomplish? It wasn't about appeasing Aiber or making a statement to him. You were specifically trying to scare me, weren't you?"

"Did you deduce that? Why would I?"

"Because-" _I'm Kira. _"-you think I'm Kira. If that were true, you would assume that I've never actually faced immediate danger before and upon being confronted with it for the first time, I might lose my nerve and favor my life over my idealism."

"If that were true, would you have you lost your nerve?"

Light 's eyes only narrowed into catlike slits. "If that were true, my convictions would have only hardened. If I am Kira I would be more resolved to judge criminals."

"Then if you are Kira, you are doomed."

L let his voice sigh with sadness, and a silence, thick as fog, filled the room. The only sound was the coffee machine, which was almost a haunting outlet to concentrate his own dull feelings. It began to whirr and growl passively. And Light simply stared at him with almond-shaped eyes that lacked comprehension and self reflection, which should have been assumed by the brightest student in Japan. The anger was there, burning golden in rich earthy irises, a fury pointedly narrowed down on L as if the fallacy of Kira was entirely his fault. A hasty assumption, as black and unforgiving as his pupils that L was the single obstacle that stood in opposition to his soaring ideals.

"_Bang_."

The detective curled his fingers into the shape of a gun, pointed it at Light's chest and jerked it upward, as though his hand had been misplaced from the heavy launching of a speeding bullet.

The adolescent's anger was no longer restrained, he let it free with a snarl. "What the-"

"You're dead now, Light Yagami," L stated.

"Do you amuse yourself?" Light sneered icily. "Is the only source of entertainment your sadistic voyeurism, where you get to watch on cameras when other people suffer because of your _twisted _investigations?"

"Do _you_ amuse yourself?" L countered. "Is your only source of entertainment your masochistic crusades, where your actions lead to the conclusion that you're begging to die, since you so often stick your face deliberately before the metaphorical gun?"

"_No_, I don't want to die," came the genuinely furious answer. "Do not confuse your desires with mine. I never had any pressing dream to be tortured until death by the _mafia_, that was entirely your plan!"

"Who would you sooner be tortured by? The government?"

"You _fucking bastard_."

Light was usually well-mannered and conducted his behavior with discipline, so at the shamelessly crude language, L lowered his eyebrows into a darkened frown. "Do not blame me for the fact that you have enemies."

"Why the hell shouldn't I?"

L did not have an instant response – he was passive by nature and not prone to extended arguments. The coffee machine was growling, and the agitated sound was assimilated into the back of L's throat. Words were beyond him – because they were beyond Light, who only saw his own reasoning which was retarded by his own childish immaturity. Children lacked the mental capacity to understand a lecture, it was instead simply a matter of obeying and disobeying. At this moment, Light spoke a single language, and L had every intention of accommodating.

Besides, he had eye-for-an-eye justice to collect, for being kicked in the face earlier.

He bounded forward, and before Light could even react, he let his fist fly. It rocketed forward and made contact with a _crash_ into the adolescent's jaw.

The youth let out a grunt of pain but countered quickly by swinging his own fist into L's cheek, snapping his head to the side. The other fist, still dangling with a handcuff, hit right into the detective's stomach.

The blows caused L's body to spin to the side, and he took full advantage of that momentum by turning the full circle. His leg lifted as he came back around, knee lurching upward all the way until his foot was in the air. The heel of his foot soared through the air and slammed on the side of the brunet's head in a backspin kick.

"Nngh!" Light spared a brief half-second to recover before sending up his left fist above L's neck, twisting his body and positioning it for a more powerful uppercut.

L was fairly sure that no teeth had been knocked loose, but he tasted blood freely in his mouth now, from his gums, his lips or where ever. The metallic sensation on his tongue was almost sweet, and he found himself smiling. Ah – the end blade on the cuff had nicked his lower cheek, but sliced deeply enough so that blood also began to trickle down his neck.

"If you had any human decency, then the least you could do is apologize," Light quipped. His left fist was raised again, apparently he recognized the very real threat of the sharp open-end of the handcuff and was very much not viewing this as a friendly wrestling match.

L also recognized the very real threat of the handcuff.

He coiled his back and turned, dropping his upper body onto the floor. His palms met with the carpet, and he loaded his weight, all of it, onto his two hands. For a split second, his legs were in the air, and then _boom_, he exploded. Both of his feet erupted in an upward diagonal and met with Light's chest. The smashing blow knocked Light's weight up and sent him crumpling backwards onto the bed right behind him – the bed they had fought over.

The recovery rate this time was much slower. Slow enough for L to pounce deftly onto the bed and land on Light's stomach, grab his wrists and yank them upward.

"Get off!" he raged, bucking up his hips violently to dislodge his adversary's weight.

L leaned his weight forward, focusing on keeping the murderer's shoulder's pinned to the mattress than the waist. He stretched Light's arms up to the point of where they could not bend, and then he slid his right hand up on the left wrist, favoring to seize it by the connecting cuff instead. The thing had dried blood on it, L could feel under his fingertips, the blood of both Aiber and himself. It only seemed appropriate that when L slid the chain through one of the metal bars on the headboard, that the blood be met with Light's other pale wrist as he clipped the cuff there.

"Thanks, you _idiot_," Light snarled. "You'd better find me a god damned pin right now. This is-"

Settling back on the adolescent's stomach, L interrupted with a darkness in his voice. "Now are you amused, Kira? This is perhaps what it feels like to be arrested?"

"You say that, except you're the one who wants Light Yagami in handcuffs more than anyone," Light controverted icily. "And after that, the lethal injection. That is of course only expanding upon a very shaky hypothesis that L would be so law-abiding. He might prefer to contact his friends in the criminal underworld-"

"_Yagami-kun_."

The denial was a soft and brief, but L spoke it so firmly that Light stopped immediately to look at him through eyes laced with hatred.

L growled, grabbing the collar of Light's ripped and dirtied shirt. They locked eyes, onyx and amber, and very clearly he construed, "_If_ you are Kira, and if I'm the one to capture you... you can rest assured that I will submit you to the authority of Interpol, not the revenge of the mafia. The irony in the latter does not amuse me, my brand of justice is not poetic but lawful."

No, L was far from that kind of idealist – to the point of where such a notion was something that revolted him. Light's lips were parted and his eyelids had widened, pupils beginning to dilate.

L released the cloth and sat up, though his back was still hunched. "Anyway, I wasn't planning on taking you further than France. I'm going somewhere very secret next – the place I was raised once Watari found me, and you are still a Kira suspect. So I arranged for Aiber to keep an eye on you when I came to Paris. I deduced that he might try something behind my back, but the man is in my total control. However, I've found that you're more useful when you're in my eyesight, so I retracted the original plan."

Light parted his lips, and then tightened them again. He stared, he blinked.

"That's the truth, Light-kun," L said, somewhat defensively. "I don't often tell it, so I hate that you're giving me a look like you don't believe me on the occasion that I do. If I were going to lie, I would have told you something about how letting Aiber temporarily incarcerate you was for the greater good. I'm a pretty good liar."

"Says the liar."

"Huh..." Language was an interesting thing.

The youth was twisting this in his mind. "You wouldn't change your mind without a motive, and I know you don't trust anyone. Especially not me."

"Yes," L shrugged, lazily tilting his head. His eyes trailed aimlessly across the floor until they hit the glass window, and the lights of Paris outside.

"You're selfish, too."

"I always did prefer to get what I wanted."

"So as long as you're having a moment of honesty, why not just say you're still waiting for me to slip up until I'm at 100 percent guilt? You want to defeat Kira and you won't be satisfied with anything less."

"I like being with Light-kun the best." L smiled. "That's my conclusion."

Light watched him silently with a look that was some hybrid of being uncomfortable and condescending. Then he glowered and inclined his head upward, frowning at the handcuff situation. He experimentally pulled at his arms, only succeeding in brightening the red rings of skin irritation around his wrists.

"So be a friend, and let me go."

L gazed at him curiously. The free hand melted from its gun shape and lowered until it landed deftly, knuckles bent, on Light's collarbone. Light quirked an eyebrow as the hand almost gently slid upward until it was on his neck, absorbing vibrations every time Light breathed.

"It unsettles me that I stopped caring," L admitted slowly, leaning his face closer toward Light's as though he were examining it like a piece of evidence. "The investigation is still in my head but I've discerned that it's merely habitual. This was what I wanted the most... is this what is feels like to have captured Kira?"

L rested a hand on the mattress by Light's head, and shifting his weight upward he lowered his face. The fingertips of his other hand brushed delicately against his forehead, clearing the adolescent's narrowed eyes of loose strands of uncombed chestnut hair. The hand swept aside and stopped on the side of Light's cheek. At this moment, the detective paused and studied his suspect, all golden-skinned and soft, an inherent immaturity that sharply contrasted with his grim, cool expression. Acting entirely on impulse, L lowered his mouth to the side of Light's lips, kissing at the warm skin.

There was no telling what exactly he was thinking, but in brisk response, Light turned to confront L face-to-face, and when their lips lined up, he immediately latched on. Light pulled his legs free of L's body and lifted his knees. He lifted his ankles and wrapped them around L's lower back, trying to force his body close into a fuller kiss. When L pressed his lips closer, Light seized the opportunity to lurch upward, and his tongue immersed into the older man's mouth with all the impudence that made up Kira.

L didn't close his eyes. Neither did Light. For a few seconds they stayed like that, glaring.

Then L retreated, breaking the kiss and earning an angry look form the brunet. There was blood on Light's lips, ruby beads that had fallen from the detective's wounds. It glistened in the dark room, and L frowned.

"Are you done now?" the young criminal taunted in a bored tone. "Interrogation somehow disappoints me."

Slightly, L shook his head. He moved his knees to the mattress in between Light's legs and wrapped his arms around his thighs.

"No, Light-kun," L murmured. "The next part is torture."

"Torture?" he scoffed, craning his neck and lifting his head off of the pillow. He let out a small, reserved chuckle as though the notion did not bother him in the least. "How uncouth, Lawliet."

Taking his time, the detective lazily used his hands to unclasp the buckle of his companion's belt. Say what he will, L felt Light squirm slightly in the anticipation. "The thing about torture, Light-kun, is that it's a parasite upon the mind. It eats away at rationality and logic, until there is nothing left but longing. It's the kind of longing you do not want, if you're trying to resist - you long for the agony to stop."

"Ha, ha!" Light laughed loudly as though he were unconcerned, but he was beyond uncomfortable and was very much trying to shift his body to the most strategic angle to knock L off of him.

L, who was still positioned on Light's knees, lowered his face to the boy's torso. His tongue met softly with the skin by Light's navel, working his way down. This movement made Light shudder violently, biting his lip as that tongue got closer to the waist of the boxers. When L reached this barrier, he used a hand to free his adversary's manhood underneath the elastic waistband. He held it by the length, squeezing slightly and running his thumb up toward the tip. Then he stopped and gazed up with wide-eyes at Light. "What do you think? Do you want me to stop yet?"

"I want you to stop toying around!" The command sounded more like an shriek uncharacteristic of the reserved boy, who flushed deeply when the words met the atmosphere.

_Stop toying around._

As if a relationship between liars could be anything else – except maybe, at these heated times, that's exactly what it was. This kind of honesty, shrouded in these kinds of games. It was the kind of life that murderers and detectives had to lead, manipulating with the caliber of experts because nothing less was good enough if you wanted to succeed. And surely, success was the best way to be certain that one was more than just a functioning organism – perhaps that was why the bored go to such great lengths for an ultimately irrelevant victory. L realized, as he lowered his lips to the warm member, that he really didn't know what was what anymore.

Except that in his own groin, a heat had begun to spread.

Light spasmed sharply as L's tongue tightened around him, combined with the long fingers ceaselessly fondling. L could hear him pull furiously at the handcuffs, and felt his legs move, trying again to wrap tightly around L's back to bring him closer. He was hardening, and L pulled his face back, instead using both hands to tighten and stroke.

"I do not like what I don't understand," L said quietly as he watched Light grimace, nearing orgasm. "I am inferring that these things, too, are a case that L is meant to solve."

"I-I don't have any answers for you," Light hissed out.

Sweat was trickling down the adolescent's flushed face, and the blood droplets were still there, forgotten about or pointedly ignored. L could see Light struggling, his eyes crushed closed and his lips tight, as though he were truly fighting to keep his mouth closed against torture.

Again, L felt a fire in himself, something wonderful and terrible but more than anything, words and questions were suddenly meaningless. The philosophical pondering that he despised, which filled his mind like a curse were swept away in one simple, _human_ feeling.

One of his hands parted from Light's manhood and traveled around his pelvis, pulling down the boxers all together. His fingers slid underneath the adolescent, wanting something that his rationality wasn't there to complain against.

"Light-kun..."

"_Just do it_."

Then, sensibility was gone. He worked his fingers gently, as gently as he could into his companion, but with a driving passion that was cryptic and and straightforward all at the same time. The human body – he knew it like he knew everything else, he felt it, and when the moment was ready he thrust himself into the only person left in the world that he really gave a damn about.

The only person...

The heat was incredible, so much that his normally steady breath came out in ragged shudders. His hand dug fingernails into Light's hipbone, angling it precisely, while the other hand continued to give to Light. Two bodies who never claimed to have anything in common were pulsing together rhythmically, together in perfectly harmonizing irony. It was overwhelming, what he suddenly felt, it was beyond words and beyond names, beyond Justice and beyond Time.

(Even if a meek voice in his head whispered that it wasn't really, this was only one brief moment of escape, this would never be eternity.)

"Ahh..!"

"Nnngh!"

It came like mercy, a white eruption of the indescribable. L's head inclined upward toward the heavens as their bodies found release they so desperately yearned for. There was the moment when now everything was golden and brilliant, complex and brilliant and no mathematical formula would ever be able to explain why, perhaps no philosopher either.

A dazed exhaustion filled L as he pulled out of Light, feeling weak in his knees. He pressed his hands against the mattress for balance, and then even that was too much. His eyes tried to focus on Light's face for a moment, at the sweaty hair that was once again in his almond eyes, and then he lowered himself on top of Light, resting his head on the panting chest.

He could hear a heartbeat.

The simple pounding was a lullaby to his ears. L's body, always tense and always thinking, was suddenly able to relax by Light's breathing. He rested there, not wanting to revert back to reality, not just yet.

Of course, it was Light who broke it.

"_Now_ will you give me a hand with these cuffs? Oh - also, your coffee is overflowing."

* * *

It was both appropriate and aggravating as hell that the bastard carried around a small lockpick in the pockets of his faded, oversized jeans at all times. Light could have strangled him for not helping him out earlier, if he hadn't become so incredibly drowsy. Instead of committing manslaughter, he had excused himself to the bathroom to clean up. Stepping onto the white tiled floor, he clicked the lock on the door behind him. Immediately, he turned on the knob of the shower until the hiss of running water sounded loudly throughout the area and muffled all other noise. 

Perhaps he should have been angry right then, but any kind of frustration had temporarily dissipated. Actually, he was quite satisfied and even pleased with himself.

For more reasons than one.

Only in the safety of the sound of the running water and behind the locked door did he retrieve his cell phone, clicking it onto a silent mode as he opened it to see the glow of the screen. Scrolling through the photo gallery, he opened the picture of Aiber that he had stolen upon taking back his cell phone at the con man's estate, and opened a menu of options until he had attached it to a text message. Misa's number was briskly punched in, and with as much calm as a monk in meditation, Light typed a quick message:

_REM_

_I hope you know this man?_

The command was coded only to safeguard from the off-chance that Misa's phone was no longer in her hands. It was Aiber's death sentence under banner of the name of the Shinigami who had dared to let personal feelings cloud her better judgment. It was Justice at its finest, it was the most refined kind of righteousness. This example could be a warning to all other criminals who thought that they were safe, hiding in the shadows.

Light chuckled quietly under his breath as he proceeded to delete the phone's message history and photo gallery, and he stepped into the hot water, wet chestnut hair clumping on his forehead. It would have been stupid, he assured himself, to kill Aiber then and there. The Death Note made the job much more efficient and cleaner, harder to track.

This was practically on purpose.

And now everyone would know just how enduring Kira would be.

When he was clean, he dried himself off and slipped on a clean pair of boxers. He exited the bathroom to see L hunched over in a crouch on the bed, typing on his laptop and drinking the salvaged coffee from a mug. Light lay down quietly in the covers next to him, now more or less exhausted. Hugging the blankets to himself, he listened absentmindedly to the sound of plucking keys.

Before he fell asleep, something crossed his mind.

"Lawliet," Light started, breaking through the silence.

"Hm?"

"Where did you get the gun from?"

"What do you mean?" L asked, seemingly surprised. He looked at Light curiously. "I've had it the whole time."

"You..._what_?" Light turned to stare at him. "That's the same one from Tokyo..! How did you get it passed airport security?!"

L blinked as if he could not remember, then simply said, "I think you should go to sleep. Our plane to London leaves at 7:45 AM. And yes, Light-kun – I mean tomorrow."

_-To Be Continued. . ._

* * *

Author's Notes: 

1. What a flashy chapter. Fire, action, arguments and handcuff!sex. Writing is very fun.

2. French dictionary:

_merde_: shit

_fils de chienne_: son of a bitch

_Ne me fais pas avaler ça: _don't give me this crap

_mon deiu_: my God.

_salaud_: bastard

3. Also, I'd like to thank trustthehypocrite for making an awesome comic embodiment of Desideratum's chapter... something-or-other, the one when L kisses Light. XD Check it out in this link (minus the spaces):

http:// distilledmymind.deviantart. com /art/ Death-Note-Desideratum-pg-1-67525548

Thank you, readers, reviewers. Really, I am trying to write faster! Really, all my Death Note multi-chapter fics have updates nearing completion (yes, even Pandora.) Except for ... this one, as of posting this I have not yet started chapter 12. Soon.


	12. Enticement

**DESIDERATUM: Chapter 12**

Disclaimer: I don't own _Death Note._

**ENTICEMENT**

* * *

The fire truck whirred, followed by a procession of shrieking sirens and within the hour all the flames had been terminated. They told him that it was lucky that the fire had been in the cellar, because it stayed mostly contained throughout the forty-five minutes it had been allowed to live. The wine was destroyed, the cellar would need to be completely rebuilt but still, he was so lucky. This wrath of hell, it could've murdered its way into his daughter's room, it could've come and killed him. What a lucky man, what a lucky con-man, it's terrible but these things happen. What had been lost could be rebuilt.

Except, of course, you have our deepest and most heartfelt sympathies for your poor wife. May God bless her and keep her.

The police said that there was head injury, and because Collette was surrounded by shards of glass it was presumed that her attacker had struck her in the head with a wine bottle. The blow might have only caused semi-serious head injury, but she immediately fell unconscious. She was covered in alcohol from the attack, and when the flames began to spread further, she was burned alive. (But she was lucky, they said, she was unconscious and didn't feel any pain.)

Aiber planted a piece of 'evidence' before they arrived – a note from a certain Kal Snyder, a name already marked by the police. They ate that story up like candy, and no further suspicions were drawn.

But oh God, it wasn't enough, it would never be enough.

The police were watching him carefully, trying to keep him rational while simultaneously trying to shoo him into an ambulance for an emergency check-up that they all know _he _didn't need. More condolences, and more obligatory words. Feelingdrunk, Aiber excused himself from the crime scene and opened his cell phone.

(Betraying L was a stupid idea, there was too much of a profit to be made off of him. Doing this would win him no benefits... only satisfaction, the thing he needed most right now...)

"Hello."

"Mr. Takahashi," Aiber greeted, his voice surprisingly cordial for how weak he felt. And why shouldn't it sound so professional? This was Tierry Morello at his core essence, this was getting what he wanted and not settling for less. "I've called because I have valuable information for you, concerning the Kira case."

There was a pause, and the speaker slowed down and hushed down to a harsh murmur. "Who are you? How did you get this number?"

"I've got everyone's number, Mr. Takahashi," he drawled, running a hair through his slicked-back blonde hair. "I know everyone. Call me – Erald Coil."

The name that he had used as an alias during the Yotsuba investigation came naturally out of his lips. It belonged to L, but Aiber honestly had no issues then with soiling the son of a bitch's identity.

"Do you have any proof of your identity?" the man asked tersely.

"No." So natural, the words were so natural, like witty conversation at a black-suit party, like sipping a strangely entrancing cocktail of lies and truth. "I want payment in exchange for this information. Ten million US dollars. I'm e-mailing you the bank account you can send it to now."

There was another pause. "I have no reason to believe that you are who you say you are, or that your information for me is reliable."

"_I know who Kira is_." Aiber let the words enjoy a vast moment as the man at the other end made his deductions. "This is what we'll do. I'll give you the first half of his name now, and if you send me the money, I'll give you the second half, too. I know that money is not an issue for Interpol, in fact, it's not much of an issue for me either, but let's play ball anyway."

"All right." Takahashi recovered, still quite cautious but he was going to participate. "I received your e-mail, but I need proof that your information is reliable. How can I be assured that this person is the guilty one?"

Aiber, for whatever reason, found himself chuckling. "He kills with a notebook."

"...Very well, we'll make our deal."

That boy, that insolent schoolboy who thought he'd claim the world. That skinny little motherfucker who gave himself the right to piss on the criminal underworld, to drop them like flies because suddenly he was righteousness. Suddenly he was the Christ who fancied himself delivering the world from evil because he always got done with his homework early and needed a constructive pastime to deliver himself from boredom. _He murdered Collette, _and Aiber felt dizzy exhilaration to know exactly what would fall on him.

This was not righteous judgment on Aiber's part. This was revenge.

And at least between the pair of them, Aiber knew he was human.

"_Light._"

It was the strangest, sweetest feeling, and an unsteady smile found its way on Aiber's lips. They would find the piece of trash shit who killed his wife, they would hurt him, they would fry him like a fish, stolen out of the water. Perhaps they'd even air it on television for the whole world to watch. Aiber would tape it and show the video to his daughter every day.

"Light..." Akiyama echoed distantly.

"Yes, now concerning the bank-"

_Thud_.

His heart was suddenly burning, burning with something that was not love and was not hate. It was not fear, nor satisfaction. It was _burning_ like the fire that had burned Collette.

He saw her as he fell to his knees, as the police surrounded him and said things without sound. Saliva gurgled out of his lips but there she was, Collette, and he saw her face until everything was no more, and the Nothingness consumed him.

* * *

"Light-kun, talk to me," L announced with his lazy vigor as they soared at an altitude of a good 10,000 meters above the ground. "I am, much to my personal dismay, very bored and you are acting significantly less exciting than you normally do."

Bored? L could amuse himself for hours with a handful of marshmallows and a fork, Light thought haughtily. The detective had taken off his seatbelt the precise moment that the flight attendants had turned their heads, and was now crouched precariously by the window. Light had not argued for the scenic view. Instead, he concentrated on staring down the aisle and listening to the ear piercing sound of wailing babies while distracting himself with mentally bitching that it was a great pity that the Death Note didn't effect humans under 720 days old.

"Light-kun, this is our third plane ride together, and we're both actually in full health. That's good, right?"

No, Light, in all of his cognitive skills and inventoried factual knowledge could not discern why any of this was possibly a good thing. Aside from the fact that L being in good health was not exactly jubilant news for Kira, he could do with three less plane rides altogether. The bastard was quite likely leading him on a metaphorically treasure-hunting Eurotrip just so he could amuse himself by making Light ride more stupid planes. Also, despite the fact that they always rode first-class (not even L-incognito would settle for anything less), Light was quite certain that he picked the planes that had the most babies to ensure maximum annoyance beforehand.

Among other things, he mentally griped about being sore from the night before and that, like everything else, was L's fault. He hadn't gone into this anticipating that they would have a sexual relationship – it had never been a part of his calculations and remained that way. There was no point in planning it out because the interactions never had any point in the first place. It never made sense to Light when he tried to analyze what was developing, and so the rational man in him dismissed it as a convenient way to ease stress and natural bodily lust. In his more haughty moods he left it at that, but...

But nothing. That was all it had to be. He hadn't let his feelings get in the way of the necessary actions he had to take before, with one or two sloppy exceptions, and he wouldn't again. L would die – at times, the man was so unstable that Light wondered if he didn't know that, or even, perhaps he wanted... – and Kira would reign. Somehow, he had to get through this. He had to manage with his feet off the ground or death awaited him.

Excursions with Ryuuzaki were unimportant. Among other things.

"Light-kun, you're not saying much." Wisely observed. This man was certainly L for a reason. "Perhaps you really are sick. Are you still afraid of planes?"

"I'm not afraid of planes," Light growled, clenching his fists.

"My world-renowned deductive abilities suggest to me the contrary."

Light chuckled in a way that suggested that he wished to throttle L. "I'm only afraid of crashing."

The onyx-dark eyes widened a little and his thumb found its way between his lips, and he smirked. "Ahh. So that's it."

The adolescent frowned. "Any rational human being is afraid of dying, Lawliet."

"I suppose you're correct." He narrowed his eyes and tilted his chin upward toward the passenger box above their heads that offered services of a small light or a fan if needed. He extended a curious hand to the fan and twisted the nozzle until cold air shot down in a thick breeze, sending ripples through his already messy hair. "I don't think about those things often."

Light didn't answer, instead he clutched onto his arm rests, looking blankly ahead at the seat in front of him. He tried to ignore the barf bag that stood erect in that seat's back pouch.

"If you only had a few days left to live, how would you spend them?" L suddenly started.

"You shouldn't talk like that," Light snapped.

"I'm genuinely curious." Oddly, he actually sounded genuine, too. The fact that he was leaning forward, now his face just inches away from Light's own was enough to show that he wasn't simply babbling. "I told you, I never think about these things, and now I am."

"That's such a morbid thought. I don't want to talk about it."

"Is it taboo?"

Light couldn't say for certain if he even had the right to avoid the taboo anymore. After all, he was lucidly aware that he himself had embraced the taboo in a way that went beyond having sex with another man, in fact, another man who was his worst enemy. He had killed, repeatedly, and even if he did so for a good cause, he had been voluntarily playing with fire for a long time. No matter where the planes took him, he would never escape the flames. Burned onto the backs of his eyelids, evident when he closed them, was a burning French house and the promise of death written before him.

Despite all of the supporters, even worshipers they might see on the streets or the televisions, Light knew in a way he hadn't quite comprehended before that there were a lot of people who wanted him dead. They wanted him dead enough to risk their own lives for killing him. These people just couldn't understand the justice of what Kira was trying to do, and with a sickening knot in his stomach, Light knew that he might not always have the time to explain it to them. He was walking on thin ice, and those torch-bearing idiots were chasing after him.

But idiots or not, they could destroy him. Light needed to think through everything meticulously. He couldn't leave anything up to chance. The problem was that L had, most likely purposefully, forced him to detach from the immediate action and now Light was relying off of intermediaries. He hated this situation, but that was how it was and regretting it was never going to accomplish anything.

Telling himself to calm, however, wasn't completely possible. His eyes darted from the seats to the aisles to the screaming babies and all he could think was that he was on this plane, and if anything should happen, he had no way to escape. Kira could never live on in Misa's hands and judgment, and he, Light Yagami, would crash and burn like a mortal man.

Cold fingertips suddenly brushed against his arm. Light flinched, and his eyes flickered toward L. The detective's eyes were not on Light's face, they had traveled down to his wrist, which was lightly encircled with a purple bruise from the handcuffs from the night before.

Retaliating with a glare fierce enough to shatter glass, Light pulled his hand away and rested it on his knee. L's own hand followed, persisting, fingers wrapping around it. The other pale hand took hold of Light's right hand. A pang of unnecessary panic emerged in Light, as though the passengers on the plane might know he was Kira simply from public intimacy with L, and he unsuccessfully tried to pull away without making a scene as the detective held up his two slender hands to his face.

Urgently, Light glared at L. But L wasn't looking at him.

L lowered his face to the golden skin, his nose touching between the two forearms. His lips fell onto Light's left wrist, kissing it gently and then to the right wrist, kissing that as well – as though the folklore magic would make the bruises go away.

The unexpected moment of tenderness made Light stare blankly.

But the detective did not notice, or at least put on an act of it. He simply lowered Light's hands again, putting them back on the lap where he found them, and looked out the window. "Ooh, cumulonimbus clouds!"

"Shut up!" The growl escaped uncensored from Light's mouth and resisted both the urge to pull out his hair and punch his nemesis.

"Light-kun, I need to divulge some information to you immediately." L suddenly hopped off his seat and stood up in a single graceful movement. "Come with me, we'll speak in private."

"Huh?" Light's stomach churned but he stood up also. "Where would we go?"

"The bathroom will do, if we can keep our voices down. Can you keep your voice down?"

"Wha-"

But L had already pushed passed his knees and was stalking down the aisle, hunched over darkly in a way that made every passenger move their intruding legs the moment they saw him coming. Light sighed and shook his head before trailing after – despite how irritating L was, it might have been worse to sit there all alone.

L had shamelessly entered a bathroom, and turned around to watch him expectantly. Light glanced at the flight attendants who were busy serving soda and peanuts to paying passengers before diving in as well. He slammed the door behind him, feeling weak in the knees from the thought of motion.

"What did you want?" he demanded, placing a hand on the sink to keep his body from rocking as the plane shifted.

L waved a hand to the toilet seat behind him. "I've deduced that you'll prefer to sit during this, considering how anxious you are standing in this plane. Please have a seat."

Light's brow twitched. "On the.. toilet?"

"Yes, Light-kun. Surprising, toilets can, in fact, be sat upon," L explained helpfully. When Light continued to stand, leaning against the wall in the tiny airplane bathroom, L made it clear exactly why he had brought him here.

He grabbed Light by the hair and pushed his mouth against the younger male's. There was a crash of an impact, incremented significantly when the plane lurched in the air. Angrily, Light shoved back into L, not bothering to release the kissed, and forced the lithe-framed man's back into the counter. L grunted as the edge dug into his skin, but kicked his legs at Light's knees. When Light's balance was jeopardized he advanced and pushed the other toward the toilet seat.

Growling, Light gave in. "Door's locked?"

"You just.." L murmured, sinking his lips into Light's neck. "..have to be..." He sucked wildly, as if he had been holding these urges in ever since the airport. "...quiet.."

Light wrapped his hands under L's arms, fingers entwining themselves in the loose fabric of L's white shirt. His cheek pressed against his companion's unruly black hair and he shivered against it, exhaling sharply but as silently as he could. L was warm against him, and Light could feel his slim muscles working in his back, the body that made his enemy a human (a real human). He relished it and he sighed, his tensions unraveling at sound of L's husky breath against his neck.

Supple hands traveled downward without hesitation and immediately found the button and zipper of Light's khaki pants. There was no ritual to this, there was no savoring the act but the zipper was simply ripped down and the boxers yanked out of the way hastily. Light tightened as a hand took hold of the increasingly aroused member, and he grabbed L's face from under the chin, tearing it away from his neck, and kissed him.

The kiss seemed to distract L from his job instead of encourage him, because his hand was limp around the shaft. The warmth of it was not enough, and Light bit down on L's already-scabbed lip. The reminder made L's hand constrict, a thumb running downward against the tip. A second hand met the first, roughly wrapping itself and jaggedly beginning to move.

L pulled away from Light's kiss, but not before watching him with glazed-wide eyes and lips twisted into a small smirk. Light was beyond caring what L was thinking, and he pushed L down by the shoulders to his manhood. Without complaint, L took the tip of the penis into his mouth, giving it a tender lick before taking in more and more until Light can't keep his hips still.

Light jerked as the sweat begin to bead from his brow, and he clutched on hand against the counter and one grabbed at the collar of L's shirt to keep balance. He ground his teeth together and his lungs released their air in tight hisses. L's mouth was hot and his tongue was as nimble as his fingers, and when he toyed around with his caresses Light found himself slamming a palm into the back of L's scalp to keep him going deeper.

The world became a rush of steam and Light didn't notice when his hand burrowed so tightly into L's hair that it must have been painful. L made no complaint until a tender, "_Ahhnn_" escaped from Light's mouth. One of L's hands shot up to Light's mouth and clamped against it.

"Mmnnf!"

The erection was overcome with heat and Light could barely see anything except for L. He thrust his hips into L's mouth, every movement making the world blurr all the more until Light forgot he was on an airplane at all. When he came, he bit into L's hand, resulting a distorted and somewhat muffled yelp from him and a groan from L.

L ripped his hand from Light's jaw and lifted up, spitting come into the sink. He sighed as he examined the teeth marks in his skin, and held it accusingly in Light's face to see as though that were the predatory proof he needed to convict him of being Kira. L then ripped a paper towel from the dispenser and wet it with water, tossing it to Light to clean up.

"Sorry," Light mumbled as the world came back together, but this time, he saw it through exhausted eyes.

The detective was about to respond, probably some sly sexual and entirely inappropriate remark about recently occurred event when suddenly there was a tapping at the door.

"Uhh... is everything all right in there?" the flight attendant called.

Light and L exchanged looks, the former exasperated, the latter amused.

"I'll hide," L suggested. "You go out and tell her you require Pepto-Bismol immediately."

* * *

After a growl of indignation and a smack across L's face, Light did not tell the flight attendant that he had diarrhea. After a brilliant smile and a bullshitted explanation to the attendant and a lecture from her about one person in the bathroom at a time except for small children and parents, L followed as he stomped back to his seat. L didn't conceal his smile at Light's pride, after all, at least Light wasn't moping so silently that it was obnoxious about how much he hated airplanes. The brunette was relaxed, and even looked as though he could have fallen asleep if only the flight from Paris to London wasn't so short.

They gathered their meager belongings and made their way through a busy labyrinth of an airport. Security didn't bat an eye at the updated false identification papers, which was to be expected when it came to L's handiwork. Light didn't glance L's way as he waited to get through customs, but L knew that Light was on edge – of course he was. He knew his life was more or less in L's hands.

The flight had been brief, and due to Paris being in an earlier time zone than London, when they finally stepped outside into the city it was still morning. The weather was frosty, and nipped at their ears, but there was no snow and their sweatshirts sufficed to keep them warm. L complained loudly that he was feeling a bit sick again and was very cold, anyway, and expectantly shoved himself into Light's arm. But Light shoved him right back off again and told him that if he was sick, then he ought to stay away because he was probably contagious.

"I'm not actually sick, Light-kun," L pointed out when Light sped up his pace, despite having no idea where they were going. "I merely wanted-"

"I know." Light reached a corner on the sidewalk, and only then did he turn around, crossing his arms and tucking his hands into his sides for warmth. "So, where to now?"

L shrugged. "Cake or sight-seeing, up to you which first."

The adolescent stared, and then narrowed his eyes into a condescending look that only a would-be God could muster. "We did not interrupt work on the Kira case for cake and sight-seeing. Please tell me there is a good reason why we're in London."

"Certainly. To go to Winchester," the detective explained patiently. "I never fly directly to where I want to go in order to avoid being tracked. We'll take a bus to Winchester, but I wanted to visit a place before we leave."

Light nodded, and either he had opted to enjoy himself or he decided to give up fighting since L was the one in charge of their adventure anyway. He left their destination up to L, who decided quickly on a coffee shop for cake and caffeine and Light seemed pleased enough with a large caffè macchiato and breakfast roll. L ordered liberally, because if there was one thing he would refuse to eat, that was airline food and he wasn't pleased with going so long without proper sustenance.

After sipping the hot espresso and licking the foamy milk from his lips, Light's inquisitive nature took over. L noticed Light's eyes on him, and politely L offered him a piece of his strawberry swirl cheesecake, which was refused. Light finally spoke, very carefully.

"You told me once that you spent three years in England. It was right before we played tennis at To-Oh."

Through a mouthful of the cheesecake's crumbled biscuit crust, L gave a muffled, "Correct."

"What's correct?" Light pressed. "You were in England, or you told me you were?"

"Yes, I told you that." L clarified. "And yes, it's true. I've spent three years in England."

Sensing ambiguity, the adolescent frowned. "You lived here."

"I was as alive at the time as I am now."

"You _know_ what I mean," Light said indignantly. "I mean, this was, or is, your home."

'Home' was an odd way to put it, and the word made the cheesecake taste sour, so L added a handful of sugar cubes to his coffee and let the sweetness burn his tongue without taking his gaze off of Light. Wammy's House was a place that he spent a large portion of his childhood, technically anchored as far as issues of legality for minors went. It was a place of convenience. Roger Ruvie and Quillsh Wammy had aided in getting him the connections he needed to become the detective he was. Now more orphans were raised there to compete for L's own title. He liked England. But it was only a place, like any other.

There were so many places in the world. And in the end, nothing was as different as everyone proclaimed it to be. L lived a life where he learned to detach, and there was only one person in the world that had stayed as a constant to him wherever he went – if 'home' is a constant and may be applied in to a human being, then the term could possibly have been appropriate. That person, however, had been terminated by the boy in front of him.

"If you're done, let's go." L finished his coffee in a final gulp and stood up.

* * *

Akiyama Takahashi, who had previously looked as though he hadn't slept in days considering his shadowed eyes, wrinkled suit and the stubble that was grazing his chin, looked a changed man. The Japanese representative's eyes were sharp with determination, and sharper still were the words that he barked to subordinates. Everyone seemed to have become Akiyama's subordinate over the last few hours, and President Dressler didn't even have to give the word. If Kira was the Japanese Light Yagami, then their Interpol representative was going to take command.

Though Diane Wittlinger had supported Akiyama in investigating Light Yagami from the beginning, she had maintained the opinion, if privately, that the boy might have information on Kira but was not Kira himself. The thirteen-day rule of the Death Note proven false may have supported the proposition but it certainly did not conclude it as fact. Try as she might, she couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that a child so adored by his family (as communication with police chief Soichiro Yagami had made clear), who did so extraordinary in school and who had everything going for him and, most importantly was completely rational, would become the greatest criminal in all history. Akiyama hadn't even bothered to throw her a victorious smirk after he hung up the phone with the renowned detective who had confirmed his hypothesis, the man hadn't even glanced her way unless to send her on an errand.

If there was one thing that Diane didn't like, it was to be wrong. The CIA had recognized her problem-solving skills immediately, and then Interpol also chose to give her an official international position for her intellect. Admittedly, she could recognize that Akiyama was superior to her in wit and dedication both, but seeing him parade in authority with the snarl of a wild animal made her want to see him wrong.

"Mr. Takahashi, how do you know we can trust Erald Coil?" she asked skeptically, tapping him on the shoulder as he marched through the conference room. When he turned to her coldly, she went on. "He didn't even show us his face. How do we even know it's him? You realize this is still inconclusive, right?"

"It doesn't matter," Akiyama snapped, and then perhaps surprised by his own tone, he cleared his throat and proceeded coolly. "Look, if there wasn't something about Light Yagami, the person who called me wouldn't have pulled that name out of thin air. We have more than enough evidence to proceed, and God knows, more than enough at stake."

There wasn't anything left to argue when Akiyama had his mind made up, and Diane felt uncomfortably as though arguing further would result in an accusation of treason, or worse – incompetence. "How are we going to proceed? We don't know where he is."

"Dressler." the Japanese man dropped their leader's title, and the way that his lips tightened in irritation made it clear why. "Dressler can get in contact with L. L can find him."

"I thought you hated L."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ms. Wittlinger," Akiyama said with ice. "L is our trump card, and now isn't the time for personal dissatisfaction when we all have a job to do."

Diane laughed in his face, wrapping her brown curls around a finger. "Then what's my job, sir? Want me to contact Soichiro Yagami and tell him we're hauling his boy in as Kira, so he'd better cooperate at risk of being an accomplice to terrorism?"

"No." Akiyama waved his hand. Then he turned again to leave to wherever he had been going, leaving Diane standing surprised. "We won't tell him anything like that until we have Light."

Of course it made sense, in a mechanical way, but Diane couldn't help but feel as if everyone was changing. It was probably nothing more than a result of her growing resentment for Akiyama Takahashi, for certainly she had done crueler things in her difficult job as an agent than withhold information from an agency they claimed to be working with. But she wanted to slap her coworker when the thought of her own seventeen year old son came into mind.

* * *

"A duck pond? When you said that you wanted to go somewhere, I assumed you meant another cake shop."

The detective strode forward with his thumbs lazily hanging in his pockets. He walked past a wooden bench and went toward the shore of the pond, staring silently out at it.

Though the area was empty of human life on such a chilly English morning, the ducks remained undaunted. They probably relied so heavily on humans feeding them bread crumbs and other scraps of picnic food that they wouldn't know how to leave – L didn't know for sure, but he never once saw the pond entirely void of avian activity. Young birds swam around in purposeless circles, rippling the smooth glassy surface and distorting the silver-gray sky so that the water reflected like mirrors as they showed off to their would-be mates. Older birds passively glided along the shore, checking for remnants of food, and often enough finding them.

It had been Quillsh Wammy who initially suggested that he visit this place during some free time in a London case he had been helping out with at age fifteen. Humans are complex, the old man had said, but underneath it all their emotions are still in basic form not much different from other animals. Watch the ducks. You'll learn something very valuable.

Watch the ducks.

It was a comparison, for sure. Males fighting over female mates, mothers protecting their children, squawking battles and arguments over food – the one to move first is the one to prevail. Underneath the organic shell that defined the organism, there were similarities between everything with a beating heart.

However, humans remained unique. Lawliet found one difference that defined all differences. When he came to the duck pond, he was relaxed. There was something soothing about this simplified world, something he could understand without summoning complex rationality. His head was as clear as the water itself. There were no anxieties, only a calm acceptance of whatever problems he was facing and an energized mind to decipher them.

Watching humans was a completely different process and experience both. Humans remained unique.

L turned and stepped back to the bench, and perched himself in a comfortable position on top of it. He curled his toes to the best of his ability while wearing old tennis shoes, and waited for Light to join him.

"I heard something once," the adolescent said, gazing outward, before finally taking a seat next to his companion. "Spending time at a duck pond rejuvenates your soul. So for every problem you have, attach an appropriate length of time to it and stay. Then you'll feel better."

"Is that so?" L mused. He watched a younger duck paddle intentionally close to the unlikely pair, looking at them expectantly with glittering eyes and an open beak. "I am sorry, duck, I don't have any bread."

The duck didn't go away, but twisted its long neck forward. It was encouraged, if anything. Light chuckled. "You know, I don't think he understands Japanese. You speak too softly and he thinks you're being nice."

"Ah. Then perhaps we should spend five minutes here, for the inability to communicate with ducks."

"Mm.." L could feel Light grinning. "Another five minutes for you forgetting to bring bread. I don't have to sit for that one, since I didn't know we were coming here and I certainly would have properly prepared if I knew."

"Five minutes for you, for not having the money to buy bread even if you did know."

Light got defensive. "That's not my fault! Blame the gods that I'm not a billionaire like you."

L tore his eyes away from the water and advanced his face toward the younger male's, hooking a finger around his lip. "Only Light-kun would ask the gods to sit at the duck pond for him. If I believed in such things, I might be frightened for your soul."

"Five minutes for the headache being with you gives me."

The detective chewed the finger between his lips finger thoughtfully. "Five minutes for how difficult you are to keep in line when I don't have handcuffs."

"I think we should knock off five minutes from the total, actually, because I'm grateful I'm not leashed to you anymore."

L looked back at the ducks, putting on a show of being very mournful. "Five more minutes for me, then, since now I'm distraught that Light-kun doesn't enjoy being my pet."

"Keep talking like that and I might accidentally shove you into the water."

"Five minutes for you, Light-kun, for clumsy accidents."

"Fives minutes for _you_, Lawliet, and that mouth of yours."

He reflected on this briefly. Yes, come to think of it, it had been mentioned to him more than once over the years that for all the cake that he ate, he had a tendency to not sugar-coat the things that he was saying unless that method was a last resort to persuading somebody to obey his orders. Unlike the well-behaved, disciplined Light Yagami, L preferred to be blunt and enjoyed getting a reaction out of people.

Which was probably why his response to the vigilante was, "But I thought you liked my mouth, Yagami-kun. I can do very interesting things with it, can't I? Or perhaps that look on your face this morning was only air sickness...?"

An unconcealed huff of perturbation expired indignantly from the youth's lips, and L had the pleasure of seeing his friend blush. Following that, a fist, stinging unpleasantly into L's cheek and toppling him off the bench and landing flat on his back on top of the cold grass.

"Ow, that hurt!"

"If you really got what you deserved," Light growled, "you'd need several days at the duck pond just to recover."

"I thought I did you a favor," L whined, sitting up and rubbing his back. He gazed at Light crossly, who turned and put up his fists when he realized what was coming, but that didn't block L's eye-for-an-eye policy from kicking Light in the jaw and sending thudding to the floor.

"Bastard!"

"You know," L said, diplomatically offering a hand which Light reluctantly accepted to pull him to his feet. L didn't let go of the hand, and Light didn't either as they stood in front of each other, casting a reflection into the pond that the ducks swam through unbothered. "If you got what you deserved too, Light-kun, you'd also be at the duck pond for quite awhile."

Light smirked at that, this inside joke between the two of them. Then he was closing his face in on L's, noses touching and mouths breathing in the trustless words of the other and letting that oxygenate their unmatched brains. "Then we'll have to keep each other company, I suppose."

"I was rather hoping you'd reach that conclusion," L admitted before shamelessly kissing him with all the birds to see.

-

_-To Be Continued.._

* * *

Author's Notes

1. Hey guys, remember this story? Ha, and you all didn't believe me when I said it wasn't abandoned.

2. Almost named it "Sex on a Plane". Almost. Or "In Which L and Light Join the Mile High Club". Al...most...

3. For a moment of honesty though, I have some issues with this fic. I started writing it over a year ago, and there are some things in older chapters that I'm not really satisfied with anymore. However, I'm not going to alter anything, and I'm going to continue as originally planned.

Thanks for everyone for all their reviews and encouragement to keep me writing this fic. :-) I appreciated it!

-Serria


	13. English Minuet

**Desideratum: Chapter 13**

Disclaimer: I do not own _Death Note_.

**ENGLISH MINUET**

* * *

"Hah..."

L had never been the sort of man to put much judgment in physical appearance, unless such an endeavor was relevant to the process of formating a criminal profile. Yet despite the fact that Light Yagami was the perfect criminal, L himself could not help but look and completely comprehend how Light was handsome and confident in a way that surely only a cold blooded killer could be. The white button-down dress shirts that the young man was accustomed to donning had a way of giving Light an outer air of intelligence, grace and more than anything (or perhaps because of everything), power. When he had the choice, Light dressed so pressed and ironed, with the collar folded and shirt straightened and head held high to make him a vision of adolescent flawlessness. Even when the shirt was untucked, loose and casual, there was nothing unprepared about the cool composure of his face, the acknowledgment of himself that made him already border on divinity.

Perfection was the precursor to the most brutal of sins. Perfection, like power, corrupted absolutely and such was the force that made the gods indiscernible from tyrants, and such was the force that made a boy's head easily sway by terrible dreams of blood baths and revolutions. Dreams of idealism were what twisted a child's face into a smirk in the face of sorrow, and fired the brilliant glint of crimson in his tawny eyes.

As for L, he knew that he was terrible too. Because when he tore at the buttons of that white dress shirt, sending a pearly piece of plastic flying across the room from a broken thread, what he was thinking about was stripping Light Yagami of his wings and leaving him grounded forever with the rest of the humans who knew they were doomed to Earth for eternity. The humans who were only humans and wise enough – dead enough – to accept their own existences as irrelevant in a merciless universe. When the shirt was finally untangled from Light's arms, L threw it in a messy heap on the floor – to let it be forgotten until the morning.

Light was sprawled before him on the mattress, his arms laying carelessly on the pillows. He tilted his chin upward and gave the impression of looking down at L, even though L was the one standing up. He smiled, unconcerned, and hardly bothered moving as L next hastily unwound his belt and worked the zipper of his khaki pants. Like even L himself was now Light's servant, doing his bidding as the god rested against a bed of white silk.

But L didn't care what was going through Light's head for the moment. He knew what he wanted, and he knew that he could, he would have it.

"You know, I know you lied to me about the train tickets to Winchester being available at earliest tomorrow," Light's tenor voice rumbled. "You've found convenient distractions ever since we left Tokyo."

L's fingers curled around the elastic band of Light's white boxers, and he paused to peer again at this youth from under the wild dark bangs that half-clouded his vision. As Light lay on the pale blankets of the London hotel bed, calmly, rich brown hair spilling in a halo around his head against the sheets, L thought if a god existed, such a thing must be him at these moments. After all, L was – had been – certain that gods were the elaborate inventions of humanity, to provide the much yearned answers to a desolate existence; _had been _until he saw a haunting, looming God of Death for himself. Perhaps both perceptions suited Light in his vast perfected self. If gods were man-made spectacles who harnessed the hopes of millions through promises of judgment upon the wicked, such a thing was Kira. If gods were confused, cruel creatures who saw little value in the human life and could kill without a second thought from a place far away, such a thing was Light.

But such perceptions remained subjective, remained in the angle that one chose to look upon the being on the pedestal. Crush the pedestal, clip the feathers from the wings of angels and underneath all the splendor, the show of brilliance and goodness there is always a human. An actor, even an actor who believes his own script and rehearsed lines. And when you have a human, you have someone you can conquer and someone who you can actually have faith in – that is, have faith in the fact that they are fallible and they can die. Because what else was certainly real, and certainly something that Lawliet could comprehend?

Here, he had Light Yagami.

Resentment made L smirk, pulling the undergarments down and exposing Light for a human. He leaned forward, casting shadows against Light's body and lowering his chin until it cradled on his torso, at eye level with him. He murmured, "Or perhaps we tarried too long at the duck pond for all our sins?"

The younger man raised himself on his elbows, if only so that he was a head higher than L. "There's something that you're afraid of in Winchester. Why don't you tell me?"

Instead of an answer, L's tongue slipped out of his mouth, lapping silently against Light's slim stomach. He tasted and smelt of soap – anticipating the sex, Light had taken a shower beforehand and would take a shower again after. Like the others, this was a five star hotel, the best of the best that was available on such short notice, and the soap had a rose fragrance that made images of English countryside gardens float through L's mind. And Light (always Light), Light walking through the gardens with his white shirt and a hand extended to the world's victims, like a god in Earth for a temple.

_Clip the wings of the angels and what's left is..._

"Hhhn!" The hiss exhaled through Light's gritted teeth as L bit down on his thigh. It was controlled in his jaw, not tight enough to draw blood but held with the grip of a wolf. Light grabbed L's hair immediately, winding his fingers into his scalp and pulling. When L hand slid down Light's stomach, tracing against his pelvis bone and then latching on to his testicles, Light's grip lessened slightly. In turn, L unclenched his jaw, licking where there were now deep teeth imprints. With his hand he began to massage the area, roughly, but with precision that made Light inhale. It was almost like an experiment, and certainly a learning opportunity like any other. L was learning what made Light gasp, what made beads of sweat trickle down his brow, and such a sight was something he valued the moment he said those supposedly self-identifying words to him: _I am L..._

With his free hand, he untwisted the lid of the small complimentary lotion bottle that he had found on the nightstand. Carefully, he managed to squeeze some of the cream onto his fingertips, and as he brought the hand to Light's bottom, he also moved his mouth to the bottom of Light's shaft. Softly, he pressed his lips against it, almost like a kiss, and lingered there more to make Light go mad with anticipation than to take things slowly. Finally, he widened his lips and began sucking, still massaging with the other hand, and making Light pull against his hair in an effort to bring him closer. When he hardened, L allowed his lotion-bearing finger to gently intrude into him, massaging the entrance well before adding another.

L tightened his hand around Light and raised his face to look at him. Light's eyes were tightly closed and he was gripping the bedsheets. His cheeks were lightly flushed. At the pause, he opened an eye and somehow managed to smirk. "Of all the cruel things..."

"There are crueler things, Light-kun. I was only making sure that you were all right..." L leaned upward against Light's stomach, kissing and sucking against his chest. He curled the two fingers inside of Light, and after an adjustment he hit the place that he wanted to hit and not even Light could keep completely silent. To intensify the feeling, he moved his hand on Light's groin more quickly. The sigh that Light made then was something content, like a cat stretching in the sun, and with his eyes closed again L thought he'd never seen Light so seraphic.

_But I will pull you out of the sky..._

"I want you to say my name, Light-kun," L said after pushing in another finger, causing Light's eyelids to flutter open and reveal the glazed brown, like cream swirling in English tea. "When that feeling overwhelms you, you will say my name. ...Do you understand?"

_...so you can be with me._

Of course Light heard every word, he was not a man to let any detail go unnoticed, especially not in concerns to his pursuer. But he shifted, lifting his shoulders, and mumbling purposefully to change the topic, "I should turn over. Won't it be easier that way?"

"Did it hurt last time?"

"A bit..." Yet Light's tone was far from convincing, ringing with the unsteadiness of ecstasy from the pleasure as L's hands brought him closer to orgasm.

"It'll be easier like this." L abruptly pulled out his fingers from Light's bottom and used the hand to direct Light's legs around his back. He hoisted them high around his shoulders so that Light's lithe body was half suspended in the air. Light caught on quickly and crossed his ankles, his knees bent around L's shoulders and L raised Light's hips under the weight of them. As Light adjusted, L rubbed a handful of lotion into his own member, touching it and grimacing against his own throbbing arousal. "Ah... it's just that..."

Light's head was turned to the side against the pillow, tousled hair beginning to stick to his cheeks and forehead. As L put both hands on his hips to adjust for the penetration, Light's now-wide eyes rolled upward to L.

"...I want to see your face."

Before any kind of response could be uttered from the adolescent's half-parted lips, L began to push inside. Light's irises wildly flickered from L's hips to L's face to the ceiling and back again, and a grimace found its way on his face. It was an expression that was hard to read, though doubtfully any more than the shock of adjusting to L's girth advancing inside of him. If it meant more, L was beyond caring. The burning tightness wrapped around him, as dangerous and wonderful as Eve's forbidden fruit. He flushed, exhaling in a ragged breath as the tight entrance pressed against the pulsing length. Everything around him seemed to go dark, forgotten, and there was only Light – Kira, absorbing all the color and light that the rest of the room had forsaken.

It was all he could do to pause to allow Light a few precious seconds to accommodate. Light's breath came out short, scattered hisses between gritted teeth and he was still curling his fingers tightly into the sheets, making every effort to keep from crying out. L went further in, which caused Light to throw his head back on the pillow, neck arched, and a muffled keen escaping him. Yet, when L dared to hesitate, if more to soak up the frantic expression on the other's face than for sympathy, the younger man snarled a _g__o! Keep going!_

L thrust hard, losing any kind of restraint that he might have previously had. Nothing else mattered except connecting to this person in the ultimate intimacy, pouring in all of his frustrations and desires into a single point that enveloped the tattered remnants of logic. He leaned forward, landing against the mattress on his knees and bending Light's lower half further forward until his knees were close to his shoulders. Here, the aroma of salt filled L's nostrils and he could see the moisture of desperation dribbling down the other's brow and catching in his eyelashes. The heat was almost too much to bear, but there was no turning back now – he thrust again.

His hips thrashed against Light. At first, the overwhelming sensation from the slick, narrow passage made his movements erratic, untamed. Light moaned, sending a jolting shiver down L's back, but he would have been a fool to take the noise as a submission. Light wrapped his legs even more tightly around L's torso and pulled him forward, forward and in further than ever before. White lights flashed in L's eyes, but he wasn't finished yet. With Light's legs entwining their two bodies together, L continued with a mutually established rhythm, in a cycle that Light reciprocated with his own time.

It was difficult to conceive, when the were both wet with sweat and hot with lust, that they were looking at Death with their half-lidded eyes.

Or that the watch on Light's wrist was still ticking.

(_tick, tick, tick...)_

With a sudden snapping jerk of his pelvis, L hit into Light and found a place that made the youth's face surge with electricity and cry out. Dazed but encouraged, L burrowed his fingers into Light's hips, cupping around his bottom to maintain the angle. Light's upper teeth were gnashing into his lower lip in a futile effort to stifle his cries, causing them to come out in a harsh _uh, ahh, uhnn_. L could feel the breath against his cheeks, and the sound put a rush of lust aching throughout his body. He tightened his grip, trembling now with the insatiable longing to both satisfy himself and rip cries from his doomed seraph.

"Ryuu-..." Light began to choke out. "Ah, L..."

At the peek of his hardness, a tremendous shudder coursed through L's spine. He spasmed and his vision went blurry. Everything was like a bed of clouds except Light. Light the harbinger, the criminal, the boy who thought he could take wing and claim the sky when their business was complete. Could he? Could he make the world his, if L had let him go unhindered? The question was a paradox, so thoroughly flawed in itself, so ironically mistaken because he would never – could never – let Light go. Just as Light had been unable to let him go. Too badly they needed to destroy one another, too desperately and, in the tightness that connected him to his doom, he wondered if he wanted Winchester to end their journey. The thought made L convulse again, convulse and shake until he couldn't hold on any longer.

L spilled himself into Light, a stream of hot semen. He gasped as he came, and his muscles seemed to go completely numb. Releasing his fingers, he went to take Light's member into his hands despite feeling light-headed, but the efforts were almost pointless. Light bucked his hips into the air and cried out.

"_Lawliet!_"

The word overcame him.

It overcame him and with a shock in his chest he fell forward into the sticky ejaculation pooled on Light's stomach. Simultaneously his head was heavy and empty, he couldn't lift it from Light's panting chest. For a moment, he felt as thought he couldn't breathe.

And then the moment was more than just a moment.

Burning, burning. The world was spinning in a blur of color.

"Lawliet?" Light whispered then, slowly folding his arms around L and tightening them into an embrace. "..Are you...?"

But before Light could choose the end of his sentence, L recovered and pressed forward with his elbows and tangled his fingers into Light's hair. He caught his mouth and poured kisses upon his lips, sucking and searing and needing until all energy was gone and they could only lay there, silent but alive, and forgetting themselves in the pounding of their heartbeats.

* * *

It was colder today, with a new splash of white snow glittering in the afternoon sun, but Misa felt as though she were the only one who noticed. In the Harvard area, the streets were filled with young students – scholars who wanted to read their books and lead their protests, so threw on knit scarves and hats and went on with their lives. The young model shivered, blowing out a breeze of pale breath in a sigh, and made her way through the crowds while trying to keep her balance on the iced sidewalks. Behind her, Ryuk lazily drifted along through the air with his tattered black wings outspread, casting invisible shadows against the bright sky.

They had agreed to meet at a coffee shop. Starbucks, Misa read carefully in English letters before she entered, while thanking the gods that she could at least read the foreign alphabet, if not much more than that. After stepping inside to a sudden change in atmosphere, she stomped her feet on a black mat until her designer boots were free of snow and unwound her scarf from covering her nose. It'd be awhile before she was warm, but at least there was hot coffee waiting. Someday later – soon, she told herself – she could laugh with Light about how she endured the weather in America.

For now, though, she had to focus on the mission at hand, and so she scanned the faces and the red-lettered names above the heads of everyone in the small shop. When she saw who she was looking for, she turned the other way and headed toward the counter. The clerk smiled and said something she didn't understand, and Misa pointed to what looked like a picture of a large sized latte. The total price showed up in green numbers on the till, and Misa fished out the appropriate number of bills and coins out of her purse. She tapped her foot as she waited for the clerk to finish making her drink, and she knew that he was watching her.

"Hally-san."

"Teru," Misa responded informally without bothering with honorifics, slipping across from him at the table. He had visibly scooted over to accommodate her if she had chosen to sit at the same side as he, but Misa would have none of that. Even if neither Light nor Teru Mikami would ever know the full truth, she ached for her beloved Kira, and could only tribute her longing with determined chastity. She crossed her legs at the thighs and folded her arms.

Despite his obvious respect for etiquette, Mikami didn't seem offended by so suddenly being on a casual first name basis with her. His face lit up just to see her, though, Misa could recognize that the look of adoration was not for her, but for Kira himself, and Misa was only the intermediary. To her, it was easily recognizable, because it was identical to her own face after Kira had punished her family's murderer. "Are you well?"

Misa wished she could answer honestly, and heave a sigh and complain that she didn't know more than three words in English, and she couldn't understand these American customs, it was too cold, and above all she missed Light so terribly that it hurt. But complaining was not only inappropriate, it was cheap. She was serving a great purpose for Kira. What more could she want? "You're doing well, Teru," she said instead. "Kira is pleased."

"He... what did he say?" Teru's fingers curled tightly into his styrofoam coffee cup, nails making indents but mercifully not quite piercing it. His eyes darted around the bustling shop, and he leaned forward and spoke in soft, hasty Japanese. "Is God satisfied? Does he have new instructions?"

"Only to continue."

After they had finished their coffee, she smiled and waved when they parted ways, playing her part as an actress in Light's grand production. Teru Mikami smiled back, beaming, and seemed to have no idea that God was sending his child to be crucified. Or maybe, somewhere deep inside, Teru knew, but it was a purpose he gladly served.

Expendable.

An expendable tool who offered his body, heart and soul to the god he believed in, knowing full well that he might never get them back.

Misa thought, as she arrived back in her hotel room and hooked up the voice scrambler and prepared an audio tape to send to the police, that she really wasn't much different. The only difference was that Teru Mikami thought Kira was indestructible. But Misa prayed to every god she could think of – even to Kira – that Light would forever be safe, because deep inside, she knew that her savior was just a boy. But somewhere less deep inside, she told herself she had nothing to worry about.

"_Hyuk, hyuk_," Ryuk rumbled. "Things are really going to get exciting now."

* * *

It wasn't L shifting and leaving the bed that woke up Light in the morning. It wasn't the soft noises L made as he took a shower and put on a pair of pants. It wasn't even when L knelt beside him on the mattress, leaning down to him with one hand against his cheek and nipping light kisses against his neck. This, Light could endure with a sleepy groan, and he could curl into L's naked waist and accept the comforting warmth of another human body. When L said his name gently, his full name, he burrowed his face into his pillow and restfully zoned him out. Fingertips brushed down his spine, trying to pull down the blankets, but Light yanked them back up again and was ready to drift back into heavy sleep for another hour at least.

What woke him up was the television, quietly buzzing across from him.

"_-American president David Hoope has stated officially last night that they have taken Kira into custody, but has not released any name nor further details. The International Police Criminal Organization, the ICPO, has also issued a public statement that they will ensure this matter is looked into internationally and with cooperation from representatives worldwide. Again, no details-"_

Light froze up at the news with a sudden awakening, a hot thrill rushing through his body and tensing every muscle he had. Beyond all luck, Misa had actually succeeded in his instructions of scouting out a new Kira who existed solely to be a scapegoat. With a fake Death Note and pages filled with his handwriting, no more evidence would be needed to arrest him after Misa tipped off the police as to his identity. The X-Kira would be interrogated, initially as to his role as Kira. The man may or may not deny it, and he may claim that he had only been using the notebook for a few days, which was true, but the United States probably wouldn't let him so easily off the hook. When interrogation got harsh, X-Kira might be inclined to mention Misa's false name and describe her features to plea bargain, but Misa would kill him within a few days with her own Death Note. Without L working the case, focus from Japan would relocate to America.

It just could be enough to distract Interpol and the task force from the fact that the thirteen day rule no longer assured the innocence of Light Yagami. It would certainly be enough to ensure that, thirteen day rule failure or not, his father and the other Japanese police would reject any doubts they had previously had about Light being Kira. They knew Light himself wasn't killing now, and Light had L himself as a witness to that. When L found his name, he would drop dead of a heart attack – Light was relying on Ryuk's speculations to him on that day that felt so long ago now. L's 'real name' was in the Death Note, and though Light didn't like that he was in a vulnerable position by working so directly with L, he supposed L of all people deserved all of the effort he was putting in. After L was out of the way, Light would sobbingly call his father and tell him what happened, and his dad would quickly have him sent home to Tokyo. Light could even tell the task force why L was dead, certainly not any fault of Light's, and they would bury their grief and proceed to work with Interpol in American investigation as Misa continued to make false notebooks and recruit new Kiras.

America would be dealt with when Misa killed President Hoope. Misa would send a video to the White House and give her regrets, but state firmly that America must no longer hunt Kira. Once America was tossed off the board, the rest would crumble. Interpol would be more difficult to subdue because of the strict confidentiality anti-Kira measures they had taken, but if their supporting countries gave in to the reign of Kira they had no reason (nor funds) to continue.

From there, it would be a never-ending process. They would continue to capture Kiras, who soon after being taken into custody, would die. Kira would reign so long as Light could control the Japanese task force and steer clear of suspicion against Misa. As for suspicion against him... well, who could accuse him when criminals were being punished while he was living at home again under the supervision of his father?

L's kisses trailed downward against his neck, hitting him in a crook that made Light squirm. It tickled, but rather than admit it, he pushed L's face away with his shoulder and sat up, nestling himself in L's arms to keep the man satisfied.

"Kira's caught?" Light asked, putting sleepiness into his voice and resting his head against L's chest as though he were too tired to care. "That can't be..."

The detective pressed a palm into Light's cheek to hold him against him, fingers winding loosely into his hair. "America says it is so," L replied softly. "That doesn't mean it's true."

"But you know," he insisted, breaking his eyes away from the television and craning his head upward to peer at L, whose head rested against the headboard. Light allowed himself to sound more and more awake with every second as to illustrate a sense of excitement. It almost seemed useless now, but he had to act the part of the unfairly accused who wanted nothing more than have his name cleared. "Lawliet! Could Kira really be caught? Is it the real Kira?"

"Shh, Light-kun," L hushed, adjusting his knees so that they stood upright on either side of Light's body, and Light was laid against him. An arm wrapped around Light's chest, laxly bent at the elbow and fingers lightly pressing around his ribs. "It's difficult to know what the real Kira is planning, but he's made an interesting move."

"You aren't even considering that it might be Kira..."

"I believe that the person who was captured will be dead soon, or else will lose all of his memories of the Death Note." L paused, listening to the television repeating itself with breaking news. "And that the real Kira means to fool us all."

It didn't matter at this point what L thought, so long as he kept his apathetic behavior consistent, but Light exhaled. "So this is all completely meaningless."

"It's not useless. It's a move that could either help Interpol trace the real Kira, or could help Kira terminate his opposition. But in the end..." The voice trailed off, and there was a soft _thud_ as L shifted his head back into the wooden headboard behind him. He hesitated with a moment of unfinished silence, until finally he said, "In the end, everything is meaningless."

But as he spoke, his arms winded tightly around Light, and when he was quiet again they didn't loosen. Light's breath caught, and for a few minutes he allowed L to hold him in silence. L was unhappy. Light could feel it as easily in his murmurs as in the slow rise and fall of his chest and the passive beating of his heart inside.

Light was inclined to agree. Yes, there were many things that were meaningless, and many things that should not be lingered upon.

Yet...

Decisively, he turned over, sitting on his knees and resting his stomach against L's. He leaned forward to set one hand upon L's shoulder and the other in the curve between his cheek and his neck, tangling a bit in his soft hair that looked like midnight even as the morning light sprinkled in through the window.

"It'll be okay," he lied gently for reasons he didn't think about, and tenderly brushed his lips against L's own.

* * *

"What do you think of that?" Diane Wittlinger asked while flaunting a wide smirk after. Though the live broadcast of American President Hoope had aired hours ago announcing Kira's capture in America, the offices had been busy with reports, files and other classified information coming in from America. Akiyama Takahashi looked pale, much to Diane's delight, and she leaned over his desk with a palm planted on the wood. "Our American agents have already confirmed the man's identity as a Teru Mikami. In no way related to Soichiro's boy."

Akiyama didn't answer. He didn't even look in her direction. He stared at his computer screen, but his eyes were too dark. He was trying to work something out in his head, trying to account for a thousand unknown details, and Diane knew full well at least some of the problems he was facing.

"You might not be head of investigation anymore," she threw out, knowing it would agitate him to hear. "America will want to take over."

"Teru Mikami is from Japan." The words were slow, and controlled, but not quite certain.

There was another way to go with this one – destroy the theory that he had staked his position on. "Exactly. Kira is from Japan, just like L said about the original Kira."

Then the Japanese representative turned, fire in his eyes and spitting out his words like venom. "No, you idiot! Don't you think I read the dossiers?! Teru was studying in America at the time of Kurou Otoharada's death! If you had listened to a damn thing L said, you would know that Otoharada's death was only reported in Japan, and Kira responded to a live broadcast aired only in the Kantou region. Mikami's not Kira. He's just a fuckin' lackey."

Diane hissed, her long nails digging into her palms as she clenched her fists. "What do you want me to do then? Tell Hoope to piss himself and keep his fake Kira? How do you think the public will respond when we tell them that this isn't Kira after all, when everyone's celebrating? Morale and government confidence hasn't been this high since the name 'Kira' crept into our dictionaries!"

"I don't care what Hoope does or what anyone thinks. But what you'll do is tell him to piss himself and then bring his fake Kira to me. I myself will find out exactly what's going on, and how this relates to Light Yagami."

"Go ahead and find out how it relates to Light Yagami!" she snarled. "Because I'm telling you, your superiors and very, _very _curious why you're wasting time and money chasing after some teenage brat when the United States has a genuine murder notebook in their possession. Now you want to tell the President to let _you _have Mikami? Who in God's name do you think gave you that authority?"

Akiyama stared at her sharply, before straightening his tie and standing up. "L will," he said, and then was gone.

* * *

With large white snowflakes dancing lazily down from the clouds, the streets of London were chilly. More than that, however, they was messy. The weather was just warm enough to wet the snow, and the result was a sloppy mess of mud on the ground. L amused himself as they walked toward the station by watching Light try to step around the puddles, and even after his shoes were brown and soaked, he still stubbornly tried to reduce the further damage. The urge to accidentally kick the adolescent and send him splashing into the sidewalk was tempting, albeit childish, but L had never claimed to be particularly mature.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Light demanded as he sidestepped around some slush that L had marched carelessly through.

"What do you mean?" L asked innocently, and then pointed out, "This is how I always look at you."

"No. That's the look you gave Misa the first time you met her. Right before you had her apprehended. So naturally you're making me uncomfortable."

L outwardly scoffed and inwardly chuckled, and Light smiled too. Light's smile was sly, with the twist of his lips and the furrowing of an eyebrow that L had come to learn spoke as well as in words that this was Light being playful. It had been a strange revelation at first, and a part of Light that had taken time and companionship for L to learn. Light – Kira – was competitive, this much and been obvious from the moment Lind L. Taylor had clutched his chest and died. Yet, Light generally acted overly serious, and his normal smiles were often controlled and placed, fooling everyone except for the world's greatest detective. Seeing his true faces was like being told a secret.

Uncanny, perhaps, but L desired to dwell in it. After all, the journey would be over soon.

Both L and Light knew that.

"Wait, Law– ..where are you going?" Light asked behind him as L suddenly turned into a shop along the sidewalk. L opened the door with the chime of a welcome bell, entering a breeze of warm air and a crackling of merry Christmas music on the radio as behind him Light read the sign. "The Cake Shop? Agh... of course such a name can't keep you away. Lawliet, can't we just eat at the London Waterloo?"

"Why wait?" L asked as he trod forward to the glass display case, leaving a trail of mucky water in his footsteps. The shop must have been new, as L had never heard of such a place, but the menu looked promising. Prices were definitely overmarked but that wasn't exactly a troublesome issue for him. The young clerk gave a glare and trot over with a customary greeting, and L made his decision. "Strawberry shortcake and coffee for me. What do you want, Light?"

"Nothing," Light growled, crossing his arms. And then, "Tea."

Service was pointedly slow, but within a few minutes they had made their way to a small chestnut table by the window. Light was still scowling, tapping his fingernails against the ceramic teacup as he waited for it to cool down (for such an adolescent was far too dignified to blow on it). Unbothered, L dropped a handful of sugar cubes in his coffee, not looking away from Light's face as they plopped in one by one. Light pretended to ignore L's attention, but with each second he grew more irritated.

"What?! Eat your cake and let's go."

"Light-kun," L said gently, holding up a forkful of cake. "You hurt me. I've been enjoying our adventure together, but it's almost as though you wish for it to come to its end."

The adolescent darkened, slumping over on the table with his chin in his hand. He glowered for a moment, then said more carefully, "It's not that, Lawliet. But we both know that now isn't the time to be enjoying ourselves. I swore to solve the Kira case, and with every day, every detour, more lives are lost to Kira."

"Yes, it's true," he agreed, sucking on his fork until the cream was thoroughly free from the prongs. "But it will all be over... soon. And after that..."

"After that we'll go back to Tokyo and have Kira's head."

"That's right..." L turned to his backpack, on the floor by his chair, and fumbled with the zipper. He retrieved his laptop, which he immediately opened and booted up. "I had realized that I should alert the headmaster that I will be visiting, otherwise he will have a heart attack of shock. That's why I stopped, for a moment to write him an e-mail."

"And then we'll be going to the place you were raised?"

"After I left the orphanage in France, yes. Watari brought me." Light was frowning, and L smiled. "Relax, Light-kun. It won't take long. All I've wanted to do is to confirm my original birth certificate, which is in the vaults of the institution. I am sorry that it has taken so long. I admit that efficiency has not been my priority, and perhaps it would have been wise to leave you with your father and allow you to continue the investigation, but.."

Light lowered his gaze to his reflection in the tea. If he had stayed, probability was high that he would have been arrested by Interpol when the thirteen day rule had been tested and proven false. If not by Interpol, then the Japanese task force would be forced to admit that Light might not only be guilty, but that the circumstances of his innocence were highly suspicious and convenient. Light needed to rely on L, at the moment, to safeguard him. It was an ironic and delicate situation for him, and Light was undoubtedly formulating his own counter-plans but as it was, L could keep Light with him at the moment.

"But it would've been lonely without you," L finished instead.

The words earned a look of surprise from Light, quickly covered by darting his eyes in the direction of the window and focusing them on the passing traffic.

L watched him a moment more before turning back to his laptop, typing in a group of nonsensical numeral plus digit passwords. Whatever happened, L could claim these moments as his own. The inevitable fate they they would face – whatever course that fate took, perhaps without even much influence by the actions that they took now – would come. L wasn't so delusional to reckon that he could stop the ticking of time. He was only certain, at that moment, that he could at least hold the watch hands back for a brief pause from their endless travels around in immortal circles.

And why not? Surely it was no task that a normal human could complete. But no one argued that L was human, not anymore.

No one except Light.

To think that the criminal he had spent a year pursuing was now his partner in confidence, in travel, and even in lust was ludicrous, at least, it should have been. But the truth was that L felt... old now, aged further than his twenty-five years and after the day that Light's Shinigami killed his dear Quillsh Wammy and tried, unsuccessfully, to slay him with a name he didn't have, he wondered if he could ever be surprised again. Everything seemed natural because he was only half awake, and he was also half sleeping. In a way, it all remained a dream, a dream that kept him chained in the opaque. Kept him chained to Light with no desire yet to discard him, but with all reason telling him that he had crossed the line if now he was purposefully trying to withdraw from the world that needed him back into the shadows just to drag Light with him. Just to have Light with him.

Because destroying Light himself would give him faith again in reality by destroying his faith in dreams. When Light was gone, when Kira was gone, everything that had been the ruin of L would dissipate. Light, with his gods of death, his murder notebooks and his names to stamp on faces, and _his justice, _would be a memory that L would take pains to never access again. What was lost couldn't be regained, but the new would be grown. L would, could endure.

The problem was that... was that... salvation might have been miscalculated. If salvation was actually in Kira – in Light – then L was doomed right beside him. If Light brought such a thing as fate in his procession of the unbelievable, then L could accept orders like a machine processing coding and compute, however, as far as L could deduce there was an underlying conundrum: and that was a choice.

_L,_

_I need your authorization to extend my authority and move my investigation forward with all the resources that I will require. I know that Kira is Light Yagami, the son of Soichiro Yagami who you previously incarcerated under suspicion. I also know that you know that Light Yagami is Kira, and I hope we can work together to put an end to this chaos once and for all.  
_

_-Akiyama Takahashi  
_

But the choice had already been made. There was not even a thought to freedom.

The e-mail illuminated at him in crisp English, the death warrant whose oblivious victim was only a meter away. In almost a morbid fascination, L stared with mouth agape again at Light, with his elbow curled at the table and his eyes watching a choir of Christmas carolers make their way down the sidewalk through the window. So close, his laptop with the etched words might as well have been a gravestone. Fate, for Light, had come with the Death Note.

L had tried to ignore it, but ignorance was a luxury that would always be denied to him. The world was vast, and L could go to Russia, to France, to China, Canada, New Zealand, wherever – but wherever he went, he would never escape. He was connected to Interpol, to the governments, to the politicians and the police, to himself. To L. L, at the head of the rest, would always want, need to solve the challenge that had been placed before him. That was what the world was, and who L was.

He had known – should have known – since Quillsh Wammy first told him the truth about what he was to become. A detective of this caliber can no longer be a human, because humans have weaknesses that make them fallible. Infallibility is a mechanical approach, so L must be a machine. A robot with the most technologically advanced of artificial intelligences, a thing of steel and wires who doesn't need to waste time for sleeping or for trusting people. Or waste time with the nonsense of self-identity.

Wherever he went, he was a system who had to abide by the golden rule of all systems, and that was to continue to follow the systematic path.

The truth was that Light Yagami was unquestionably the merciless serial killer Kira, and he unquestionably knew it. L could have had him arrested the moment he set eyes on the adolescent and _knew, _but he had been seduced by the desire to work out the puzzle and put the pieces together himself. He wanted to conquer Kira on his own terms, and wanted to conquer Light Yagami on his own terms, too. By his folly he had been paying the price ever since, when he should have died along with the only man in the world who he could trust. Even if his body remained breathing, something had died that day.

Something had changed that day.

What was left was to either move forward and compromise Wammy's House to the face of Interpol and of Kira, or to stop now and realize that what he had been trying t accomplish was never going to be solved with a simple algorithm... and to accept that he had known this all along.

"Are you done yet?" Light asked, raising his head and looking expectantly at L. "...What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," L answered softly. "It's just as it should be."

Light frowned, sensing something unspoken. "Then... shall we go?"

L looked away from Light to the sky beyond the glass, where a mountain of clouds soared forth to block the sun with promises of a snowstorm soon. "I just realized something. I never wanted to go to Winchester at all."

_Clip the wings of an angel, and what's left is..._

_A Paradise that is lost to us forever._

-

-To Be Continued...

* * *

Author's Notes:

1. That's probably the longest sex scene I've ever written. lol

2. This story is finally nearing completion. I need to stop being so damn lazy and just finish it. Some parts, particularly earlier parts, are still irritating me... but well, I'm excited to be able to say that I've written to completion something besides a one-shot.

Thanks for reading and all of the support! -Serria


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